


I Want To Feel Something Again

by astolenbaguette



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alcohol Withdrawal, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Growing Up Together, If you like angst and poetic nonsense then come right in, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, M/M, Minor Drug Use, Minor Violence, Sort Of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-15
Updated: 2021-01-27
Packaged: 2021-03-05 00:01:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 52,085
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25275103
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/astolenbaguette/pseuds/astolenbaguette
Summary: Sometimes, I imagined turning a corner or entering a shop and there he’d be, Enjolras. All grown up and beautiful. Even though it’s been years we’d instantly recognize each other. He would smile and whatever it was inside me that fell out of place would fix itself, and I’d feel whole again. But that was then, and this is now. Now I’m a 24-year-old alcoholic art school drop-out who just manages to pay his rent by bartending.orI listened to "Sober Up" by AJR, thought of Enjoltaire, and then things escalated wildly.
Relationships: Enjolras/Grantaire (Les Misérables)
Comments: 44
Kudos: 77





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> So this sort of is and isn't a growing up together fic. You'll see what I mean. They're children in the prologue, but they'll all be adults for the rest of the story. Which allows for lots of angst and sexual tension. No beta, so all typos are mine. The story takes place in the United States because I wanted an accurate portrayal and I grew up in the US. Overall, I had a lot of fun writing this so please enjoy reading it.

I was in second grade when I met him.

It was the middle of the year, and I had already decided that this school thing was not for me. Kindergarten had been different. They tried to teach us the alphabet and the number line, but you could decide you’d like to start throwing blocks instead and no one cared much. Then suddenly it was all worksheets and no naps. It didn’t help that letters were hard. I kept mixing up d and b or w and m. I also couldn’t stop writing s and z backwards. Second grade came and while everyone moved past those mistakes, I didn’t. During recess, my teacher would keep me in the classroom to trace alphabet sheets. Pages and pages of s, z, d, b, etc. I hated it. Most days I’d start crying, but she’d make me finish them anyway. Then when the rest of the class came back I turned them in, tear stains and all. It didn’t help. Once it came time to actually write I’d get confused again and start doubting myself. Finally, I had decided that enough was enough. I obviously wasn’t smart enough for school so I’d do something else with my life. My mother wasn’t exactly on board with that plan.

“While I’m very proud that you’ve managed to have a life crisis at seven, you’re still going to school. Don’t frown honey. You’ll get it eventually and then you’ll laugh at all the fuss you made. Stop shaking your head and listen to your mama. _Taire_. Mama has to go to work. Taire, honey, I can’t be late. Grantaire! Get out of the car!”

I might have had to go to school, but that didn’t mean I had to stay. Our recess area was a large open field. There was a sports area set up for the older kids, but not much else. The field was bordered by maple trees and beyond that a fence that led right into the park next to the school. It didn’t take too much effort to sneak out. Barely any students ate breakfast at the school, so there wasn’t a whole lot of supervision for those of us living off of single-serving cereal bowls and milk cartons. My mom always dropped me off early so the cafeteria was relatively empty. Once the workers were distracted with preparing lunch, I slipped out the door that led straight to the recess field. From there it was a mad dash to the trees. Which wasn’t very hard since it was still dark out. Thank God for daylight savings time. Now, as a grown man I’ve failed multiple times at trying to gracefully hop a fence, so you can imagine my difficulty when I was only 4 feet tall. Climbing up a chain-link fence is the easy part, all the regret occurs when you reach the top. Seven-year-old Grantaire decided to just go for it, and by “go for it” I meant get my pants caught on the fence, slam into said fence, hang upside down, and then fall onto the ground when I finally pulled myself free. I had ripped my pants leg and cut myself, but it was a small price to pay for freedom.

I wasn’t sure what to do once I was in the park. I hadn’t thought that far ahead. We didn’t have cable at my house when I was a child, so I spent most of my time doing other things like drawing. But, when my mom went to sleep, I'd turn on the TV and watch these old shows about cowboys, soldiers, and mobsters (Cowboys were my favorite. I had a phase at five where I’d wear a cowboy hat everywhere I went). I thought of those old war shows and decided I needed some sort of base where I could regroup. The park had a playground area that included an intricate slide structure (the kind with tunnels and fireman’s poles). There was a little enclosed space on it near the slide that made for a good base. I climbed the ladder to the top and crawled through the tunnel. I got the biggest scare of my young life when a pair of arms suddenly grabbed me from the other side. Before I could even scream a hand was over my mouth and a blond boy on top of me.

“Who sent you?" he asked with a look far too deadly for a seven-year-old.

I couldn’t exactly answer with his hand on my mouth and my grabbing at it didn’t seem to be doing much. So, I resorted to desperate measures.

“Ew! You licked my hand,” he said, immediately pulling his hand away and wiping it onto his school shirt.

“No one sent me here! I’m hiding!”

“Oh,” he mumbled as he got off of me. I sat up and examined the boy sitting in front of me. He was taller than me, with a curly mess of gold hair that fell into bright blue eyes.

“You’re crazy,” I said, “why would the school send a second grader after you?”

He didn’t seem to take any offense to my insult. “Don’t underestimate them, they’re crafty.”

“What does ‘crafty’ mean?”

He tilted his head. “It means they are super sneaky and evil...like the Joker.”

“Who’s the Joker?”

“Batman’s nemesis, duh.”

I thought of asking who Batman was and what nemesis meant, but decided there were more important questions at the moment. “Who are you?”

He smiled revealing a mouth full of braces. “I’m Enjolras Lamarque.”

He held out his hand like we were adults at a meeting, I thought it was strange but shook it nonetheless. “I’m Grantaire Ramirez.”

Enjolras giggled. I had recently lost my front tooth and it made my name sound funny when I said it. More like ‘Granthaire Ramireth’ than ‘Grantaire Ramirez’.

I couldn’t help but pout. “I’m sorry,” said Enjolras. And it sounded like he meant it.

“How about I call you R?" he asked.

I smiled wide and nodded my head. I never had a nickname before. My mom called me Taire but mom nicknames didn’t count. This was a real nickname.

“Okay, R. Can you keep a secret?”

I nodded my head more enthusiastically.

“I’m running away. The principal is a tyrant, and the teachers are -." He paused as if he had rehearsed this and was trying to remember the next line. “Abusing their authority,” he finished.

I marveled a bit at his big words before whispering, “I’m running away too.”

Enjolras gasped. “Really!”

If I had nodded any more excitedly in response, I would have gotten whiplash.

“Every time I speak my mind I get in trouble. I told the teacher that it’s free speech. That’s what my dad says, he says free speech is the first amenent.”

I remember thinking that this boy was the smartest person in the world. I was too young to know that he had mispronounced amendment.

Enjolras continued. “So, I protested by writing on the bathroom wall with a sharpie.”

“What did you write?”

“I borrowed a copy of the first amenent from Mrs. Fantine, one of the 4th-grade teachers, and wrote it on the wall word for word. When my teacher asked why I did it, I told her that I did it for her because she obviously didn’t know it. Anyway, I got suspended. Then my parents grounded me for a month. It’s...what’s the word...unconsitual.”

I didn’t know what unconstitutional meant, let alone “unconsitual,” so I just nodded in agreement again.

“Why are you running away?" he asked.

“I’m not smart enough for this place. I’m too stupid. So, I’m giving up being a student and I’m going to become a cowboy.”

Enjolras frowned. “You’re not stupid,” he said sincerely.

I didn’t know how to respond to that, so I shrugged.

He let it go. “A cowboy, huh? I was thinking I’d go somewhere and start my own society. Where no one is in charge and everyone is nice. I’m going to call it ‘Friends of The People.’ I don’t see why it can’t have cowboys in it.”

“You want me to come with you?" I exclaimed, eyes wide.

Enjolras gave me his metal smile again. “Of course. Strength in numbers!”

He peeked over the little plastic wall blocking us from view. “What direction should we head in?”

At this point, I was practically bouncing up and down. “West! All cowboys live in the West. Where it’s super hot and there’s sand and cactus and vultures and mountains and horses and...” I rambled on for an embarrassingly long time, but to Enjolras’ credit, he let me finish. He even seemed to be actually listening.

He stood up and stared intensely into the distance as he said, “West it is.” He looked like a true pioneer at that moment. Right then, as I stared at the rising morning sun reflecting off his golden head, I would have bet my life that there was nothing Enjolras couldn’t do. He could create his own society, defeat tyrants, maybe even save the world.

The effect was only slightly ruined when he suddenly frowned and asked, “Which direction is West?”

“I know this one!" I yelled.

Enjolras shushed me. “Sorry,” I mumbled. “But I know where West is. The sun rises in the East and sets in the West. So...um...if the sun is rising over there...then West is that way.” A chubby finger pointed past the park. Luckily we would be heading in the opposite direction of the school.

Enjolras ruffled my hair. “And you said you weren’t smart.”

While I lack any hard evidence, I’m sure that moment was the first time I ever blushed.

Enjolras put his backpack on and I quickly did the same. Like two men on a mission, we slid down the slide and made our way through the park.

* * *

It was a cold morning, and while Enjolras was bundled in his thick red jacket, I was freezing in my school sweatshirt.

“Enjolras, I’m cold,” I complained, rubbing small, gloveless hands together.

He pulled off his own gloves and handed them to me, then put his hands in his jacket pockets. “You said it’s hot in the west, so the faster we get there the warmer we’ll be.”

I couldn’t argue with such solid logic, so we walked on. The sun was right above us when we could no longer ignore our hunger or our tired feet.

“Can we take a break?” I whined, sitting down on the sidewalk. I no longer recognized the part of town we were in. A few shops lined the road but the street itself was quiet with only the occasional car passing by.

“Good idea,” Enjolras said, shivering a bit. He perked up suddenly and pointed across the street. “Look, it’s a coffee shop, I bet they have hot chocolate.”

I scoffed. “We don’t have any money.”

He smirked and reached into his shoe. I watched him confused until he pulled out a twenty-dollar bill.

“Whoa! Where’d you get that?”

“I walked my neighbor’s dogs for him,” he shrugged. “Come on!”

Enjolras helped me up and grabbed my hand like my mother did when we crossed the street. It was warm inside the shop and a muffled acoustic song played over the speakers. Only three other people were in there. Two women laughing quietly together with their coats thrown over the backs of their chairs, and a man with glasses typing away at a computer. No one had noticed the two small school children walking in off the street. I followed closely behind Enjolras as he strutted up to the counter.

Enjolras slammed the twenty-dollar bill onto the counter. “Two large hot chocolates please!”

The man behind the counter looked around confused before his eyes turned down. Enjolras’ head was barely above the counter and I had to get on my tippy toes just to see what was happening. The man looked like a giant, and when he laughed it reverberated loud around the cafe. “Shouldn’t you boys be in school?" he asked, smiling.

Enjolras and I looked at each other nervously. “Umm...we…" I stuttered.

“Our parents picked us up from school. We have a doctor’s appointment,” Enjolras blurted out.

The barista raised his eyebrow. “Both of you?”

"Yes."

“Where are your parents?”

Enjolras opened his mouth and closed it like a fish. “Tell him where our parents are, R.”

I turned to him with wide, betrayed eyes."Traitor,” I whispered.

The man was looking at me in poorly concealed amusement, still waiting for an answer.

“They’re...they’re in another shop,” I said.

“Which shop?”

“The one...over there,” I answered, pointing vaguely to the right.

He laughed under his breath before his face twisted in concern, “What happened to your leg?”

I had completely forgotten about my ripped pants leg which was now fraying. A small spot of blood seeping through from where I had cut my leg. “Oh umm…" My small brain raced to think of an excuse. “...I fell,” I finished lamely.

The barista didn’t look convinced, but before he could ask anything else Enjolras slid the 20 dollar bill closer to him. “Can we have our hot chocolates?”

The man smiled warmly at us. He slid the money back towards Enjolras. “It’s on the house.”

“What does that mean?” Enjolras asked.

“It means you don’t have to pay for them.”

“Really?”

“Yep. What’s the name on the order?”

Enjolras was beaming. “My name is Enjolras. E-N-J-O-L-R-A-S. And this is R.”

“Just R?" the barista asked me.

I smiled. “Just R.”

We peered over the counter as we watched him make our drinks. I was holding on to the countertop to keep balanced on my toes while Enjolras kept jumping to get a better view. Finally, the barista placed two to-go cups of hot chocolate in front of us. One had ‘Enjolras’ written on it in swirling cursive letters and the other had a bold capital ‘R’. I pulled off my gloves so I could feel the warmth coming off of the cup.

“How about you boys finish that inside, it’s chilly out there.”

We were more than happy to oblige and settled down at a table in the corner. Enjolras took off his backpack and set it between us.

“What’s in there?" I asked.

“Everything we’ll need,” he said, patting the bag affectionately. “A blanket, a flashlight, granola bars, a water bottle, markers for when we make the welcome sign, and a flag.”

“What’s the flag for?”

“Every country has a flag. That’s how we’re going to declare our independence.”

“Oh,” I said, a bit embarrassed. I felt silly as if I should have already known that. Back then, it felt like Enjolras was an infinite well of knowledge, and somehow the universe had given me a chance to drink it in. He said everything without hesitation like he believed every single word of it. So, I did too. He could have told me that the sky was green and I’d believe him. There was no room for doubt with Enjolras. He was faith incarnate.

We sat there for a while. Me, sipping my hot chocolate and swinging my short legs underneath the table. Enjolras, letting his grow cold as he sat on his legs and wrote down ideas for his new society.

“You write really well,” I said, watching him cross the t on the word ‘liberty’.

“Thanks.”

“How do you do it?”

“I just write,” he said, looking up from the paper.

“I’m bad at writing. I mix up all my letters, like b and d. My teacher says I’m too old not to know how to write. She thinks something might be wrong with me,” I mumbled staring at the water ring my cup left on the table.

“That’s stupid,” Enjolras said.

I felt my eyes sting at the corners and I hid my face in my sleeves. “I’m sorry for being stupid,” I said into my arms, my voice muffled. I heard the sound of a chair sliding across the floor and felt a hand on my back.

“I didn’t mean you Grantaire,” he whispered next to me.

I lifted my head to see that he had moved his chair right next to mine, and was now staring at me with earnest blue eyes. “Then what did you mean?”

“I meant that your teacher is stupid.”

I gasped at his audacity. Only Enjolras could be seven years old and completely unafraid to call an authority figure stupid.

“It’s easy, you’ll see,” he said, pulling the notebook around to face us. “You know how to make the sounds, right?”

I nodded and made the sounds for him.

“Okay, can you write the uppercase letters?”

I grabbed the marker and wrote a ‘B’ and a ‘D’.

“Good. Now just write the lowercase letters.”

“I can’t remember which one is which,” I whined as my breathing began to quicken.

Enjolras was silent for a while, his face twisted in serious thought. I held my breath as I waited to see what he would say.

“Write the word dog.”

I let out a frustrated sigh. “I already told you I can’t -”

“Just write it,” he interrupted.

I rolled my eyes but tried to write it anyway. There on the page, I had written in neat black letters ‘bog’.

I looked back at Enjolras with hopeful eyes, “Is it right?”

Instead of answering, he asked me, “What letter does ‘dog’ start with?”

“It starts with the letter D.”

Enjolras grinned. “I see.”

Before I could ask what that meant, he was reaching across the table for his marker pack. He took a yellow marker and wrote an uppercase B. The next thing he did blew my seven-year-old mind. He took a black marker and wrote a ‘b’ inside of the ‘B’.

“Look, the little b fits perfectly inside of the big B.”

“You’re right,” I whispered in astonishment.

He flipped over the page and wrote down the word ‘bed’. “Whenever there’s a lowercase b or d try to write an uppercase B over it. If it fits then it’s a ‘b’ if it doesn’t then it’s a ‘d’.”

I did what he said and then I did it again and again and again until I had filled the page up with as many words I knew that had the letters b and d in them. I couldn’t believe it. I got so excited that I threw my arms around Enjolras and pulled him into a hug. To my surprise, he hugged me back and laughed.

“I told you it was easy,” he said.

“Can you help me with the other letters?" I asked, releasing him.

“Sure, kid.”

Before I could remind him that we were the same age a deep voice interrupted us.

“Enjolras Lamarque and Grantaire Ramirez?”

I looked up to see a large man standing over us in a police uniform. Enjolras turned towards me for support, but I was already trying to hide behind him. So, he turned back to the officer.

“Umm...no?”

“I’m gonna need you boys to come with me.”

* * *

“R, stop crying!”

“I can’t help it!”

I had been crying from the moment we were told to sit in the back of the police car. Only criminals sat in the back of cop cars, and all I knew at that age was that criminals went to jail.

“I don’t want to go to jail, sir!" I cried.

“You're not going to jail,” the officer said from the front seat.

“R, do you have a bobby pin? I can use it to undo the handcuffs,” Enjolras whispered, very loudly I might add.

“You’re not in handcuffs,” the officer said, groaning.

“Not yet!" Enjolras yelled.

That only made me cry harder. “Sir please, don’t take me to jail!”

Enjolras hugged me. “Don’t make him go to jail. Take me to jail instead,” he pleaded.

“Neither of you are going to jail!” The cop ran his hand over his face. “I’m taking you back to school.”

Enjolras gasped. “What! That’s even worse!”

The chaos continued for the rest of the car ride. Enjolras kept screaming that he had “the right to speak with Miranda” and I kept crying at different volumes. Finally, we made it and the officer was all too happy to hand us over to the vice principal. She tutted at us as she walked us to the principal’s office.

“You boys are in big trouble.”

We weren’t. Our parents panicked when the school told them that we weren’t there. Their fear for our lives momentarily outweighed their anger and they fussed over the state of us. Enjolras’ parents gave the school hell about letting us slip away to possibly be kidnapped or run over. The school was so afraid of getting bad press that they decided not to punish us at all. Unfortunately, the ‘thank god my child is alive’ feeling wore off, and we were both grounded. Enjolras got grounded for another month. Though my mother insisted I was “grounded for the rest of my life,” she caved and let me go to Enjolras’ house once his parents un-grounded him.

I had never had a friend before Enjolras, and I was afraid of him drawing away from me. It wasn’t long before I learned that Enjolras went all in on everything he did, and once he decided that we were friends - that was that. It helped that we were young. Children are unabashed in their friendships. So, from that day on we did everything together

At recess, we’d pick up sticks and pretend they were bayonets and muskets. We’d run around building pillow forts and barricades to hold our imaginary revolutions. We created a game called ‘Kill the King’ which consisted of me wearing Enjolras’ mom’s old pageant tiara while he chased me around his house with a Nerf gun. In the summer, his dad would take us camping and we’d look for roly-polys and pick flowers. He taught me how to swim when his parents built an in-ground pool, and I taught him how to make a paper airplane that could reach the teacher’s desk. Most days we’d just lay on the carpeted floor and he’d read different books out loud. As I listened, I tried to draw the characters or the scenes or sometimes him. I never knew what to do with them. My mom put my early drawings on the fridge, but when there started being multiple a week it became impractical. Enjolras wouldn’t let me throw them away, so he kept them. Though I never saw them when I went to his house.

My writing improved with his help and so did my feelings about going to school. Everything about my life became better once Enjolras was in it. He’d talk for hours about the strangest things for a kid to care about, and I felt like I could spend my whole life listening to him. In a way, I became Enjolras' sidekick. I couldn't save the world, but he could. I'd hold on for as long as possible. Until the inevitable day, he'd wake up and notice he's dragging around dead weight.

* * *

We were in fourth grade when we met Jehan.

My friendship with Enjolras had one drawback: I didn’t bother making other friends. Which normally worked because Enjolras wasn’t exactly drowning in playground buddies either. Anyone who's ever had only one friend understands that the problem occurs when said friend decides not to show up. So, I decided to spend my lonely recess hour drawing in the dirt with a stick (you know, like a happy child). Meeting Jehan was an act of fate. If fate was a swift kick to the head as he tripped over me.

“Ow! What was that for?”

Jehan was dusting off his school shorts. “I didn’t mean it! I tripped!”

My mini-concussion was another bad thing to add to a fairly bad day, so I didn’t brush it off like I usually would’ve.

“How didn’t you see an entire person! Are you blind?”

“Yes,” Jehan said smoothly, as he picked up a pair of purple glasses from the ground, "but I didn’t see you because I was looking up.”

There was nothing above us but the maple trees that lined the field. “At what?”

“The falling leaves.”

Jehan must’ve read my confused expression because he sat down next to me and decided to explain himself in detail.

“It’s a game I play. Whenever the maple leaves fall off the tree, I try to catch them before they hit the ground.”

“What do you do with them?”

“Nothing, I just like catching them.”

“That’s weird,” I said.

He smiled. “I know. You want to play it with me?”

I looked at the small boy in front of me and then looked at my sad stick.

I shrugged. “Sure.”

There actually was something mesmerizing about catching falling maple leaves. It was pretty and satisfying to watch them float into your hands. If we were older, Jehan would have said that it had a poetic element to it. But we weren't, so instead, we just laughed and ran around and tripped over each other with our eyes facing the sky.

Jehan was a character even for a ten-year-old. He was from Vietnam, and when I asked which state that was he hit me with a silly band. Then he showed me how to find the country on the classroom map. He had long black silky hair and he wore it in a braid down his back. People mistook him for a girl sometimes, but he didn’t seem to care. He also wore tacky sweaters his mom would buy him from thrift shops all year round, and light-up sneakers. I’ll be honest, I thought his light-up sneakers were the coolest things ever.

Enjolras ended up having the flu, so I played with Jehan for the two weeks he was out. The weekend he got better I invited Jehan to come visit him with me. I’ll admit I’d been nervous about the two of them meeting. They both had intense personalities but they were complete opposites. I was hoping to get any possible clash over with.

Once in Enjolras’ bedroom, I helped him organize his missed assignments while Jehan roamed around the room.

“What’s with the flag?”

Jehan was pointing towards the medium-sized red flag that Enjolras still kept taped to his desk.

“It marks this room as a part of Enjolras’ kingdom,” I said, laughing.

“Shut up, R!" Enjolras said, hitting me on the head with a rolled up paper. Which only made me laugh harder.

“‘Friends of the People’ wouldn’t even have a king, it’s a democracy,” he grumbled, sticking out his tongue.

“Friends of the People?”

Enjolras jumped up and joined Jehan by his desk. “It’s my plan for a new country. No one is in charge, but we all decide things together and help each other cause we’re all friends. So there’s lots of sharing and voting and if someone is bad we’d put them away until they’re sorry and then they’d get to share and vote again.”

Jehan looked impressed. “That sounds nice, can I be a part of it?”

“Sure. I know it’ll work. I’ve run the numbers and Grantaire drew some charts. I was thinking we could add it on to America. I’ve written to the president about it, but he hasn’t responded yet.”

“The name could use some work,” Jehan said, rubbing his chin in deep thought. His face lighted up as he started jumping up and down, light-up sneakers going crazy. “Let’s put it in French!”

Enjolras frowned. “Why would we put it in French?”

“Because French sounds fancier,” Jehan said, putting on a serious face. “Don’t you want people to take you seriously?”

“Is that why you’ve been calling the bread rolls at school “baguettes” because I don’t think that’s what they are,” I said, as I stood up and joined them.

Enjolras nodded grimly. “You’re right. I think my Dad has an English-to-French dictionary in his office.”

We all ran downstairs to Enjolras’ dad’s office. Where Enjolras stood on my back to search the top of the bookshelf. Once we found it, our only obstacle was that we were children and didn’t know how to translate.

“Okay, the word for ‘friends’ is ‘les amis’." Jehan dictated from the bed as Enjolras wrote the words in black marker on the flag.

“The word for ‘of’ is ‘de’.”

“Got it!" Enjolras yelled.

“Oh no,” Jehan whispered.

“What?” I whispered back.

He showed me the page he was looking at. “There are so many words for ‘people’”

“Umm...pick the one that looks fanciest...that one,” I said, pointing to the word ‘l’abaissés’.

Jehan took a deep breath and attempted to pronounce it.

“Okay I’m done,” Enjolras exclaimed, holding up the flag for us. “Is it right?”

Written in bold black letters on the flag was LES AMIS DE L’ABC.

Jehan slammed the book closed. “Yep,” he squeaked, “you nailed it.”

We spent the rest of the day elbows deep in glue, paper, and glitter. Constantly expanding the perfect world we were envisioning in our heads. We didn’t need a charter to create a country, it existed because we believed it did. I used to think the only thing that stood between a dream and achieving it, was belief.

* * *

Jehan’s mother worked at a nail salon, and she would often do his nails for him. They were always intricate and colorful and put every girl’s nails (including the adults) to shame. The teachers didn’t like it, but if Jehan ever noticed, he didn’t care. At some point, he decided to learn how to paint his own nails. The decrease in quality was obvious, but he was more excited about them than ever.

“R, your nails are so long! Let me paint them!”

“What about my nails?" Enjolras asked.

We were sitting in the grass at recess and Jehan had been trying to teach us how to chain flowers together.

“You bite your’s, you gremlin,” Jehan quipped.

“You can paint mine,” I answered.

“Mine can still be painted,” Enjolras mumbled.

Jehan smiled cheekily. “If you want me to paint your nails Enjolras all you have to do is ask?”

That earned him a fist full of grass to the face.

The next day, Jehan brought a small clear bag full of nail polishes. He had every color we could imagine, and we sat on the concrete as he brushed the colors across our nails. I gave Jehan artistic license over my nails, which meant that each individual nail was now a different neon color.

“Jehan, are they dry yet?" I whined.

“Don’t touch them!" Jehan yelled, looking up from Enjolras’ hands. “Keep blowing!”

I rolled my eyes and continued my obnoxiously loud blowing.

“It needs more red,” Enjolras complained.

“Trust me Enjolras, I’m a professional,” Jehan said. “Once this dries, I’ll put red polka dots.”

We were so distracted we didn’t notice Babet coming near us until he knocked down the nail polish bottle next to Jehan.

“Hey! What was that for?" Jehan yelled.

“Why are you painting your nails like a girl?" he snarled at Jehan.

“Because I can! Why do you care?”

“You’re a sissy!" Babet yelled.

“Well, you’re an idiot!" Jehan yelled back, standing up.

Babet’s hands turned to fists at his side and he stomped on the nail polish bottle, smashing it into pieces. Jehan screamed. Before any of us could react, Babet grabbed the bag of nail polishes from the ground.

“Give it back!" Jehan shouted, but his eyes were getting watery.

At some point, Enjolras had also stood up and was now right in front of Babet. They were the same height though Babet was bigger. Enjolras’ mouth formed a tight line and he was giving Babet a glare that I’d seen take down grown men.

“He said give it back,” Enjolras growled.

Babet pushed him hard enough to knock him down. “Faggot!”

Enjolras had already started getting up, but I was on my feet before I had even realized it. Without thinking I let out a loud cry as I ran towards Babet and kicked him between the legs. He immediately dropped Jehan’s bag, his legs crumbling beneath him. I stood there shocked over a crying Babet curled into a ball on the ground.

“Holy shit!”

“Enjolras, that’s a bad word,” Jehan said, hugging his retrieved bag to his chest.

“Sorry,” Enjolras mumbled halfheartedly, eyes still wide.

“What’s going on over here!”

I jumped at the loud voice and swiveled around to see Mr. Thomolys striding towards us. He looked angrier than I’d ever seen him.

“I...I...he...and,” I stuttered.

Luckily, Enjolras cut in. “It wasn’t Grantaire’s fault, Mr. Thomolys. Babet broke Jehan’s nail polish bottle and pushed me down. Then he tried to steal Jehan’s bag.”

Mr. Thomolys eyed Jehan’s colorful plastic bag and then scanned his eyes over our messily painted nails, he frowned in disgust.

“Go to the principal’s office, all three of you.”

“But we didn’t -”

“I said go!”

Enjolras set his face to argue but Jehan silently shook his head at him. I grabbed Enjolras’ sleeve and pulled him away.

The hallway was quiet as we sat in the chairs outside the principal's office. Enjolras glared at the ground as he gripped the side of his chair so hard his knuckles turned white. Jehan cried, constantly wiping his face as more tears fell. I stared at my nails. They reminded me of Christmas lights. I held them out in front of me like they do in movies and wiggled my fingers.

“Worth it,” I said.

Jehan smiled wide and then started to giggle, Enjolras' hands loosened as he joined in, and soon we were all laughing loud enough for the whole hallway to hear it.

When I got home with my detention slip my mother furiously wiped my nail polish off. She didn’t seem that angry, or even disappointed, just scared.

* * *

The summer after 5th grade was exciting for two reasons: we were on the precipice of being middle schoolers (which I was foolish enough to think was a good thing) and we all got bikes.

Learning to ride a bike was the closest thing we were going to get to vehicular freedom for a while. So once we could all keep our balance, the road was our new playground.

Jehan decorated his handles with streamers and put beads on his bike spokes. While Enjolras spray painted his entire bike red and named it ‘Anarchy’. I made a habit of keeping every sticker I got or found and sticking them onto my bike. We’d race and joy ride and dare each other to ride down hills until nightfall. I could never recreate even an ounce of the joy I felt barreling down back roads on a summer evening, a tangle of golden hair flying past me and falling from my view like the setting sun.

Which is why it felt as though winter had come early when my mother told me we were moving. The timing was sudden and her reasons were vague. I knew it had something to do with the man she’d been seeing lately. The one who came without notice and left without a trace. Who always brought us gifts. Who kept a platinum silver wedding band in his wallet next to his platinum credit card. I screamed and cried and refused to leave to no avail. I had a week to pack up my things and say my goodbyes. My childhood had been given an expiry date.

If I took the news badly, then I don’t have words to describe how bad Enjolras and Jehan took it.

“You can’t leave! I won’t let you!" Jehan cried for the hundredth time.

Enjolras had yet to say anything. He kept staring blankly at me as if he couldn’t process my words.

“I’m sorry Jehan,” I said, bringing him into my arms. “If I could stay, I would.”

Jehan was sobbing and I was trying desperately hard not to when Enjolras finally spoke.

“This weekend,” he whispered to himself.

“What about it?" I asked.

“You leave next week, right?”

I nodded.

“Then we should go camping this weekend.”

“By ourselves?”

He gave me a sad smile. “Yeah, why not. We haven’t done it in a while and Jehan’s never come with us.”

Jehan’s breathing started to even out. “But I don’t know how to camp,” he said.

“Don't worry, it’s easy. It’ll be for one night so we don’t need much. We can go out into the woods near the lake. Where those flowers you like grow."

Enjolras looked straight at me, blue eyes seizing mine. “It will be special. You deserve something special.”

I felt the tips of my ears heat up and I tried to look anywhere else. “Okay,” I said. “Let’s do it.”

The plan was simple. They would tell their parents they were sleeping over at my house, and I’d tell my mom I was sleeping over at Enjolras’. We snuck the small tent out of the house earlier that day, so Enjolras could strap it to his bike without notice. We’d meet up and ride out to the lake, then we’d ride back home in the morning. Enjolras took the whole thing very seriously, even making us use walkie talkies.

I idled my bike once out of view of my house and pulled the blue plastic walkie from my backpack.

“Come in Enjolras.”

The walkie started with a static crackle. “Use the code names, R. Over.”

I let out a long suffering sigh. “Come in Master Chief.”

“Wait, I thought your code name was Apollo,” said Jehan’s voice through the speaker.

“We’re not using your Greek god code names, Jehan.”

“Let’s use them, I like Apollo,” I said.

“Thank you, Dionysus,” Jehan chirped.

I grimaced. “I take back my previous statement.”

I could practically hear Enjolras facepalming. “Okay guys forget about the code names. What’s your 20? Over.”

There were at least 10 seconds of radio silence before it crackled and a frustrated groan could be heard coming through.

“Did you guys read the code sheets I gave you?”

I reached in my pocket for the crumpled up piece of loose-leaf paper. “No,” I said, flattening it out, "I mean negative.”

“Just meet me at the park,” Enjolras grumbled.

We didn’t need to use the flashlights. The night was so clear that the moonlight slipped through the sparse trees and lit up the forest. We hid our bikes in the bushes and ran carelessly into the woods. Our feet following the winding, beaten path. There was something welcoming about a beaten path. A treasure trail laid out for you by someone else. You could feel safe with the knowledge that wherever it led was somewhere worth going. So, we jumped over fallen trees and small streams until the path let out into a small clearing. It was an isolated place not far from the other side of the lake. The grass lay flatter there and the flowers grew in patches like a makeshift garden. 

Enjolras and I set up the tent while Jehan laid out the blankets. We sat down and piled together the snacks we brought. Jehan had made each of us sandwiches and baked sugar cookies cut in the shape of stars. Enjolras brought juice boxes and jerky. I threw down half a bag of assorted chocolates. 

“Why is there only half a bag?" Enjolras asked, glaring at me suspiciously.

I smirked and kicked his leg with my foot. “You can’t get mad at me tonight, I’m the guest of honor.”

I had meant to make them laugh but their faces both fell. Jehan’s eyes got misty and he took off his glasses to rub at them. 

“Hey, don’t cry,” I whispered, grabbing his hand. “No crying. Not tonight.”

He nodded and smiled but it didn’t reach his eyes. “I’ll go pick some flowers, that’ll cheer us up.”

After he got up I turned to see that Enjolras had laid down and was staring up at the night sky. I slid the food pile out of the way and laid down next to him. 

“Whatcha thinkin bout, Apollo?”

He elbowed me in my side but I could see that he was smiling. 

“You know Apollo suits you,” I said. 

“Why?" he asked, turning his head to look at me.

I hesitated a moment before I said, “I always think of you when I look at the sun.”

He looked back at the night sky and didn’t say anything for a while. I thought that maybe the conversation was over when he suddenly whispered, “I think of you when I look at the moon.”

I couldn’t help the small noise of surprise I made. “Why?”

“Why do you think of me when you look at the sun?”

I quickly turned my head back towards the sky. “I don’t want to say. It’s embarrassing.”

He sighed. “Same.”

He turned his head to look at me and poked me in the side until I did the same. 

“How about this? When we’re older and we find eachother again, I’ll tell you.”

I didn’t know what it was that I was feeling at that moment, but it was overwhelming. I was afraid of what I’d say if we kept this up, so I turned away and rolled my eyes.

“You’re so mushy.”

Enjolras put his finger in his mouth and then stuck it in my ear. 

“I’m trying to be serious,” he yelled, twisting it around.

I screamed in horror and squirmed away. 

“I am wild,” I said, jumping towards him and attacking his ticklish stomach with quick fingers.

Enjolras laughed and wheezed before he finally kicked me away. He caught his breath and settled back down. 

“I’ll miss you,” he said.

I felt myself blushing all the way to my toes. “I’ll miss you too.”

Jehan came back holding a neatly made flower crown in his hand. “Perfect,” he said, placing it on top of my dark curls.

I smiled wide as my fingers brushed across the delicate flowers.

“R, why is your face so red?" he asked, putting the back of his hand on my forehead. 

“No reason,” I squeaked, and I could hear Enjolras giggling behind me.

* * *

The day I was going to leave him forever came far too soon.

I've played it back in my mind so often that every detail feels less and less real. It was mid-August and the weather was sweltering. Only made bearable by the leftover breeze from last night’s summer rain. The house was empty and smelt of dust and cardboard and cigarettes. We had let up all the windows to cool it off. The grass was still wet when I ran across the yard to meet him, and it stained the edges of my white sneakers. He was wearing his favorite shirt, a red one with Captain America on it, and khaki shorts. His hair was messier than usual as if he had woken up and immediately came over. Jehan had to go out of town that day and said his goodbyes before, so it was just me and him.

We sat on my porch in silence and watched my mother pack up the car. He started crying. I had never seen him cry before. I wanted to comfort him, but I had started crying too. We startled at the sound of my mother slamming the car trunk down. She looked at me. It was time.

I hugged Enjolras tightly and he clung to the back of my oversized shirt. I hadn’t been prepared for what he did next. I pulled away and before I could blink, soft lips were on mine. It lasted only a second. A kiss between children, uncertain and chaste. He immediately jumped up and grabbed his bike off the lawn, riding away as fast as he could. I sat there shocked still until my mother grabbed my arm and pulled me up. I thought she might yell, but I guess it wasn’t worth it. I would never see him again anyway.

* * *

We moved into an apartment that my mom’s boyfriend helped her get. It was close to where he lived, so they’d be able to see each other more often. I thought it was strange that my mother had uprooted our lives just to be someone’s mistress. Turns out, he had promised her that he would leave his wife. It would just take a while to get all his affairs in order. Let me spoil the ending: he never did. To my mother's credit, she got tired of waiting and dumped him. It didn’t matter though, the damage was already done. She had been abandoned by another man she loved. She got really depressed and started drinking too much. Some nights we’d curl up together on the sofa and she would tell me stories about my father. She always had this far away smile as she told them, and she always smelt like wine. I never minded, it smelt nice. Not overwhelming and sharp like hard liquors. It was a subtle fruity scent that I began to associate with my mother, sweet and bitter.

Middle school blurred by. I didn’t attract enough positive attention to make friends, but I didn’t stand out enough to attract bullies. I sort of blended in against the blank hallways. My mother put me in my school’s gifted classes. I guess she thought that I’d make friends if I was around smarter kids. It didn’t work. Those kids had already formed an exclusive group, and I had no intention of trying to prove to them that I was good enough to be a part of it. So I did my work, I kept my head down, I stayed home, I practiced my art, and I thought of Enjolras.

I hadn’t planned to switch up my routine in highschool, but things were different. I felt different. I felt angry. All that internal rage turned me into a real asshole. I made it a game to piss people off. It made my teachers angry and got me into a couple of fights, but it also made me friends. People love watching someone tear another person down as long as it isn’t them. The group I hung out with were a bunch of edgy wannabes. Kids who thought the coolest thing they could do was throw their lives away. But they always had weed and alcohol and I needed someone to skip school with, so I chose not to care along with them. My mom called me a delinquent. I called her a whore. She kicked me out of the house that day and when I came back a week later we pretended it hadn’t happened.

I mellowed out as highschool went on. My humor became more self-deprecating. I learned to choose my battles. Basically, I became a bearable person to be around, even a little fun if I dare say so. I got invited to parties. I dated girls. I fooled around with boys. I got fucked up. A lot. I wasn’t happy, but I got used to being sad. Or at least that’s what I told myself. Sometimes I’d be talking to someone or chilling at home and suddenly it felt like the sky was crashing down on my chest. I guess Enjolras really was Apollo. With the corners of his smile, he pulled up the sun. Without him, darkness settled around my life. And as time went on, all the good things planted inside of me during my youth, died.

Somehow I managed to con my way into art school. My mom said my degree would be useless but she had decided a long time ago that I was too. I’ll admit, I liked art school. It felt good to be able to dedicate my time to something I loved doing. However, I didn’t like how much art school cost, and I didn’t have anyone helping me pay for it. I was on a scholarship but it hardly covered anything. Between working and school, I had only a sliver of time for getting lost in my thoughts. Despite my wishes, those thoughts were often about Enjolras, sometimes Jehan. I wondered where they were, if they were in school, what they looked like now. I thought of trying to find them sometimes. I didn’t.

It became hard to manage the stress. I started drinking too much. I started compensating sleep with pills. I started slipping away from myself. I started thinking that wasn’t such a bad thing. I dropped out before I could be inevitably kicked out, and got me a room in the city. Sometimes, I imagined turning a corner or entering a shop and there he’d be, Enjolras. All grown up and beautiful. Even though it’s been years we’d instantly recognize each other. He would smile and whatever it was inside me that fell out of place would fix itself and I’d feel whole again. But that was then, and this is now. Now I’m a 24-year-old alcoholic art school drop-out who just manages to pay his rent by bartending.

I hadn't let myself think about him in years. I ran my hands across my face and sat up, causing a bottle to roll off me and break into pieces on the floor. Fuck. I carefully stepped over the shards of glass to grab a broom. I had to stop drinking schnapps, it made me nostalgic. I couldn’t blame the schnapps this time though. Was it really him? I swept up the glass. Of course it wasn’t. I threw the shards of glass in the trash and decided to pick up a couple of empty beer bottles while I was at it. It looked like him. I thought back to that morning. It had been in the coffee shop I’ve been going to for a while now, the Musain.

“Low-fat caramel macchiato for...Enjolras,” the barista had said. A tall blonde man in a red coat retrieved it, and I caught a glimpse of deep blue eyes as he hurried out the door.

I sat down heavily on the couch. Maybe it was him. It felt strange to think that. I wanted to claw at the feeling in my chest. I guess I had forgotten what it felt like to hope. 


	2. Denial

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "There is a grace in denial. It is nature's way of letting in only as much as we can handle."
> 
> \- Elisabeth Kubler-Ross

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Slams chapter onto table* Finally it's finished! 
> 
> I wanted this done a week ago but I got sick (don't worry twas not the plague) and couldn't write as much as I wanted. Your lovely comments nursed me back to health, so here you go. I hope you enjoy it!

If the next day I ended up at the Musain coffeehouse, it had nothing to do with mysterious blond men. They just have good coffee. They also have these little printed napkins with cartoon birds on them, so you know, I had to have more of those. Point is, I was not hung up on a 10-second encounter with a stranger that happened to have the same name as someone I knew 13 years ago.

If I stayed there all afternoon, it was because I had a lot of work to do. No, my job doesn’t have anything to do with computers, but there are other responsibilities I have. Checking my email. Organizing my files. Making my way through my YouTube watch later playlist.

If I spent most of that time pretending to type while peering over my computer screen then...fuck. It doesn’t matter anyway, he didn’t show up. Which makes sense considering that most people don’t work until 4 AM and need coffee in the afternoon. Which is also why I may have gone there every afternoon for a week until he did.

It was on Thursday. He was wearing his red coat again. Long hair put up into a bun. A messenger bag swung over his shoulder. He walked in purposefully. Completely oblivious to the effect he had on everyone around him. How the very air in the room changed once he was in it. I couldn’t help but think that even if this wasn’t _my_ Enjolras, he was still breathtaking. He ordered a coffee, smiling and laughing with the barista, and then walked into the backroom. I began to notice other people come in and make a beeline for the back. A tall, smart-looking man who was ignoring a smaller, rowdy man with dreads. The smaller man rambled on emphatically despite his lack of audience. A pale guy who was wearing far too many layers holding hands with a bald dude that somehow caught his scarf in the door. A pretty, blonde woman walked in with a dopey, freckled guy right on her heels. Lastly, an absolute tank of a man who appeared to be late. The barista pushing him into the backroom when he tried to stop for coffee.

I felt a sudden stroke of courage and stood up to follow them. By the time I was on my feet cowardice had kicked in, and I quickly abandoned the idea. My abrupt movement had already caught the barista’s eyes who looked at me expectantly. I didn’t need more coffee but it would be too embarrassing to sit back down. So, I walked up to the front. Maybe I’d order something for my roommate. Feuilly wouldn’t be home for hours though. The barista looked annoyed at my long selection time, so I chose the cheapest thing on the menu. I let my eyes wander as she went about making it. They landed on the back door and I was asking the question before I could stop myself.

“What’s happening back there?”

She followed my eyes to the discreet wooden door. “There’s a local activist group that holds their meetings here. Interested?”

The short answer to that question was no. The long answer was a little stalker-y so I settled with a question of my own. “What’s the name of the group?”

“Les Amis De L’ABC,” she said, her face cringing a bit. “I know it’s a strange name but don’t let that put you off-”

Her voice was replaced by the sound of my own blood rushing to my ears. I looked down at the floor to remind myself it was there and that the feeling of free-falling was only in my head. A large part of me wanted to ask her to repeat herself. I couldn’t believe that she had really said that. Maybe I was so desperate for that man to be Enjolras that I’d begun hallucinating. It took a while to process that she was still talking.

“- It’s French for something, I can never remember. It's something to do with socialism. Consider that your warning before you go in there. If you do something stupid like talk about how much you admire Jeff Bezos, you'll get guillotined.”

I wasn’t sure if I was going to start crying or laughing. One thing I knew was that I was not going into that room unless someone dragged me. “I’m good," I muttered, "and I'll take that coffee to go."

I let my feet carry me home without thinking. The evidence was overwhelming and I could feel my mind spiraling. It was easier to doubt myself, it was safer. If I knew without a doubt that it was him then...then what was I supposed to do with that? If I went up to him and told him it was me...what did I want him to do? What did I possibly think would happen? I could feel a knot of hysteria building itself in my chest. It felt as though I could see Enjolras right in front of me. Babyface and short unruly curls. Taping up his homemade flag with pride. But it wasn’t _his_ back then. Not to him. To him it was _ours._ The ghost of our youth disappeared as I blinked back tears.

* * *

“Should I even ask if you’re okay?” said Feuilly as he walked into the apartment and spotted me.

It was a reasonable question, considering that I’d been laying on the floor for a while now. I thought that if I calmed down and focused, I'd have a moment of clarity. So I laid on our shaggy carpet and tried to think things through. I ended up watching the sunlight crawl across the ceiling until it slid down the walls and out of existence. It must’ve taken all the answers with it because now I felt more confused than ever.

“Nope. I got you coffee,” I said pointing to the full cup still sitting on the counter.

Feuilly frowned. “R, this is freezing cold.”

“It’s the thought that counts,” I said, shrugging against the carpet.

Feuilly only sighed and threw his coat and hat onto the couch. “It was a long day at work. If I go to sleep you promise you won’t go out and get yourself killed.”

I was already reaching for my phone when he said that, and he frowned the minute he noticed.

“It’ll just be Eponine.”

He ran a hand over his face. “Which actually means Eponine and all of Eponine’s friends.”

I refused to make eye contact with him as I started texting, “I happen to like Eponine’s friends.”

He kicked off his shoes and scoffed. “Yeah, they’re lovely people.”

I shot him a withering look but it hit a brick wall. He was already halfway to his room, all the energy needed to fight a losing battle drained from him. “If you come in before I leave, make sure to be quiet.”

And with that, he closed his door. I remember when that argument would have lasted until the very moment I stepped out of the apartment. Then he’d be there when I stumbled in. Half-asleep on the couch with a blanket, some aspirin, and a disappointed look. It was a hollow victory to make people realize you’re not worth caring about. The more you succeeded, the worst you felt. My phone vibrated.

Eponine: im at parnasse’s come over and we’ll fix you right up

Ugh. Montparnasse was a douchebag, but he was also Eponine’s boyfriend. Still, I’d rather get drunk with Montparnasse than decipher ceiling shadows until I go mad. Besides, if I'm going to spend hours looking for answers where there aren’t any, the bottom of a bottle is as good a place as any.

R: omw

* * *

“Grantaire!” Eponine chirped as I entered the apartment.

Luckily for me, only Eponine and Montparnasse were there. Eponine sprawled across the couch as Montparnasse searched through the fridge.

“It’s been forever, babe! Come sit your ass down!” she yelled gesturing towards the cushion her feet sat on.

I moved her feet out of the way and plopped down on the sofa. Montparnasse actually had a really nice apartment. Turns out drug dealing is a pretty lucrative business, who would've guessed. What was actually shocking was his impeccable sense of style. It permeated throughout the entire design of the place. From the couches to the backsplash. And while I’m not the least bit qualified to critique art, he had some high-end paintings hanging about.

“Heard you’re having some troubles,” said Montparnasse as he handed me a beer.

Eponine sat up and pulled her hand through my hair. “Tell Ponine what ails you.”

Eponine was only in this good a mood when she was high, but on what I couldn’t say. The better question would be if Montparnasse still had any. I sighed and let myself relax into the soft, velvet couch. “My problem is that I can’t think clearly enough to even begin to solve my problems.”

I heard a sharp laugh and turned to see Montparnasse’s Cheshire smile. “You’ve got it all wrong Grantaire.” He grabbed my face between his cold, wiry hands until I was looking into a pair of wide-blown eyes. “The real problem is that you’re thinking _too_ clearly.”

According to Montparnasse the remedy for that was getting trashed. We grabbed as much alcohol as our hands could carry and packed into his car. I would have volunteered to drive as the only sober person there, but the only way Montparnasse would ever let another person drive his Porsche is if he died at the wheel. So, I sat in the back and stared out the window. Their incoherent conversation became a low buzz as my mind wandered out of the car. The city was strange in February. The cold weather persisted even as the holiday spirit passed. Dull Christmas lights hung loosely from poles and new year party flyers blew into gutters. People discarded their promises of change and the city’s wheels began to turn again. It was my least favorite time of year if I stopped to think about it. Those last few months of winter left nothing to look forward to but the return of warm weather.

We ended up at the beach. It was empty this time of year, especially at night. We laid out on the sand and drank. I watched the night sky as Eponine softly hummed under her breath. It was kind of nice. In the way that it feels nicer to be sad with someone than alone.

“Do you guys believe in soulmates?” I heard myself blurt out.

Eponine choked on her drink. “This stuff is better than I thought if it’s got you asking questions like that,” she laughed.

I sat up, my hand automatically running through my hair and dislodging the sand stuck there. “I’m serious, Ponine. Humor me. Please,” I begged.

She groaned as if the very idea pained her but turned to face me. “No. The universe is cruel. The very idea that it would give you some perfect person that could complete you is out of character.”

“Tearing your soul in half and forcing you to find it is really fucking cruel in my opinion,” I countered.

She tilted her head towards the sky. “I’ll allow it. But if soulmates are real then how would you even know if you found yours. People fall in love multiple times in their life. There’s no way to truly know you’ve found the one unless you leave them. Then when everyone else you date fails in comparison you’d know.”

“But then it would be too late,” I finished for her.

“Exactly,” she said as she laid back on the sand.

“So that’s it huh?” I mumbled, turning to face the stars. “Us mortals can’t win? Either we choose wrong and regret it later or we choose right and realize it later?”

Eponine nodded her head, curly hair brushing against the sand.

I gave her an obnoxiously fake pout. “Does that mean I don’t get to see you and Montparnasse get married?”

She burst into hysterical laughter and threw a handful of sand at me. I thought we’d need an ambulance by the time she caught her breath. “What do you think, Parnasse? You gonna make an honest woman of me?”

Montparnasse’s face was beet red and his usually twisted grin looked a bit dopey. “I think you’re my soulmate.”

I rolled my eyes. Fucking lightweight.

Disingenuous or not, it made Eponine smile. “You’re so sweet, babe. Wanna go make out in your car?”

“Ew,” I groaned, pushing her away with my foot as she rolled right into Montparnasse’s arms. I continued to make vomiting noises as they stood and shambled up the beach.

I watched their blurry outlines walking hand in hand until I couldn’t separate them from the dark. I made myself comfortable on the cool sand. I finished my bottle of liquor. I finished theirs. I looked up into the universe, and I tried to think clearly. I thought of what Eponine said, that we all lose in the end. It felt right, but it couldn’t be. Because people like Enjolras didn’t lose. People like Enjolras would reshape the laws of the universe before they would accept defeat. Or at least that’s the person I had known him as. I wondered if he was still that boy I remembered. I knew there was an easy way to find out, but I trembled at the thought of facing him. I thought that I might be running myself into the ground over a stranger who isn’t even Enjolras. I thought about if I wanted the mysterious blond man to be Enjolras. About why I wanted it so badly. I looked at the moon and hoped he was thinking about me. I thought and thought and thought until the night fell away from the sky and over my eyes.

* * *

I woke with a blinding pain in my eyes. The sun was trying to burn through my lids, but my hands were frozen around the bottle I was hugging in my sleep. I tried to roll away from the aggressive light and inhaled a mouthful of sand. That woke me up. I sputtered and coughed and finally took account of my surroundings. Yep. Those bastards left me on the beach. Luckily my wallet and phone had been stuffed in my back pockets and would have taken some trouble to poach off of me. The same couldn’t be said for my shoes. Those would have been quite easy to remove and it seems someone thought the exact same thing because I wasn’t wearing them anymore. Fuck. I just got those shoes. I could already hear Feuilly’s voice.

“This is why you can’t have nice things,” he’d say.

I’d woken up with far less than shoes before, so count your blessings and all that. I lumbered off the ground against my pounding headache and chill ridden body. After I peeled my hands from the dusty liquor bottle I reached for my phone and called Eponine.

“Hey R, how ya doing?” she said sleepily into the receiver.

“Fuck you.”

She had the audacity to laugh. “That’s fair.”

“Were you not the least bit concerned I'd get frostbite or something?”

“I knew your positive outlook would keep you warm."

“Ha-Ha,” I monotoned.

“This is your fault anyway,” she said.

“You guys ditched me. How is this my fault?” I grumbled.

I could practically hear her eyes rolling. “We tried to get you into the car but you kept kicking at us. You were screaming about how you needed ‘to find yourself in the moon’ whatever the hell that means."

I rubbed my cold hands over my face as I cursed past Grantaire. 

"Well...did you?”

“No, but I did get my shoes stolen.”

Eponine not only laughed this time but I could hear her telling Montparnasse who also started laughing.

“It’s not funny Ep, that’s the third pair I’ve lost this year...and it's February.”

“Look. I know a homeless guy around there who likes to comb the beaches at night. I’ll try to hunt him down for you and see if he stole your kicks,” she said with a bit of sympathy.

“Don’t bother,” I sighed. “He’ll treat them better anyway.”

“Cheer up R,” she said, “You’re bound to run out of bad luck one of these days.”

And with that, she hung up. My nighttime visitor also had need of my socks, so barefoot and hungover I made my way back to the apartment. On the way, I passed by the Corinthe. It was a decent cafe though much farther from my house than the Musain. My fingers were blue, my toes were catching up, and I felt seconds away from vomiting. There was nothing more in the world I wanted than a hot cup of coffee. I could feel my head pound harder at the very idea of passing up the coffee shop. Only problem was that I didn’t know what their policy on wearing shoes was. Not to mention that if I were holding a coffee cup right now, people would start putting money in it. Was my dignity worth a latte? Probably not but I wasn’t going to let that stop me. Besides who even looks down these days.

Apparently everyone by the instant whispering that started when I entered the room. A very confused barista looked me up and down. She must have been trying to remember the part of her training that was supposed to prepare her for this. I had already sacrificed enough of my self-esteem just by entering the place to leave without my coffee. So, I casually walked up to the counter the best I could. I couldn’t help but squint at the intensity of the lights or the way each noise seemed to stab my ears.

“One large mocha latte,” I said, my voice hoarse.

The barista, a small brunette girl, was desperately looking around her for some guidance. None came so she glanced at me nervously and said, “Um..that’ll be 5.60.”

I took out my wallet when a severe voice cut across the cafe.

“I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”

A taller blonde woman with a pixie cut, presumably the manager, walked behind the counter and pushed the smaller girl out of the way.

“While we don’t have a mandated dress code, a certain level of decency is expected here,” she said, emphasizing the word decency as she looked me over.

I widened my eyes to hopefully appear more harmless though there was a possibility that I just made myself look crazier. “Can’t I get one quick latte? I have the money right here.”

The lady tapped her foot in impatience. “No.”

I drew in a deep breath and went in for my hail mary. “Can’t I get one quick latte, _Please_?”

She was neither amused nor moved and gestured towards the door. Welp, crappy apartment coffee it was for me then. My plan worked as well as I thought it would, which is to say not at all. I prayed to whatever was listening that Feuilly restocked the coffee (because I definitely did not) and turned to leave.

“Are you turning away a paying customer just because they’re homeless?”

The voice boomed in the silence that had fallen on the cafe. I almost went into shock at the familiar cadence of it.

A laptop slammed closed on a table. A recognizable silhouette stomped towards the counter and stopped next to me. If I was still nauseous I would have vomited. Enjolras was right here in this same cafe, a foot away from me, yelling at the manager, and calling me homeless. I was not in the right state of mind to unpack this.

“Sir while your input is appreciated,” the woman gritted out, “this doesn’t concern you.”

I stepped closer to Enjolras hoping to stop the confrontation. “Thanks but I’m not actually -”

“No, if this country has failed to provide for your basic need of shelter, the least it can do is give you a cup of coffee.”

I could have tried a bit harder to tell him that he was misunderstanding the whole situation, but I was awed by the particular shade of red his face was turning. It made his skin look like an oil painting. I half expected Jacques-Louis David’s signature to be written on his wrist for at that moment he personified ‘The Anger of Achilles’.

Enjolras turned on the woman, “What exactly are you kicking him out for?”

She smirked at her assumed victory, “He’s not wearing shoes.”

Enjolras looked down as well as every other person in the place openly watching this train wreck. I curled my toes suddenly feeling very self-conscious of my feet.

“There’s not exactly a ‘no shoes, no service’ sign outside. I understand not permitting him to stay, but he should be allowed to order and leave. You can’t say that he is offending anyone’s senses,” said Enjolras.

Then in a horrifying turn of events, he decided to address our impromptu audience. “Does anyone here find this man offensive? Do you think he’s completely unbearable to be around?”

“I’m really fine with leaving -” I tried to interject but Enjolras was on a roll.

“- Does he smell bad? Do your eyes start bleeding when you look at him?”

“Oh my god, please stop,” I whispered to deaf ears.

Thankfully, no one decided to respond to the deranged man screaming questions at them, and I got to keep what little self-esteem I still had intact. Enjolras was satisfied by the silence and turned back to the manager with a smug grin.

“There’s the proof that you have no valid reason to refuse to service this customer.”

The lady folded her hands neatly and glared at us both. “As a private business I retain the right to refuse service to anyone for any reason, so I’m going to ask that you both leave immediately.”

Enjolras gave her a glare that could have shattered glass but even he recognized that this was a lost cause.

“I can assure you that I’m more than happy to take my business elsewhere,” he snapped out, packing his laptop in his bag. I started to take an awkward step towards the exit when he grabbed my arm and pulled me out the door with him. I thought that would be the end of that. Yet, when we got outside he held onto my arm and started dragging me down the street.

“Umm...what’s happening?” I asked, remembering how to form words.

He gave me a cursory glance and continued charging ahead. “We’re getting you some coffee.”

Finally, my two brain cells connected and I realized that this whole situation had gone too far. I dug my heel in the ground causing Enjolras to almost fall backward. I tore my arm away and felt a pang of guilt at the momentary hurt look on his face.

“Look,” I said, running my hands through my hair, “I’m sorry but I’m not homeless.”

“What? Then why -” he asked, gesturing towards all of me. He eventually settled for the shoe thing. “Then why are you barefoot?”

Admitting that I passed out drunk and my shoes got stolen wasn’t a great first impression. So, my hungover brain scrambled to come up with something else.

“I uh...got robbed.” Yeah. A robbery made sense. Good job brain. “Someone knocked me out on the beach and looted me.”

“That’s horrible, but shouldn’t you have gone to the police instead of a cafe?” he asked with poorly concealed speculation.

I shrugged. “Guess I’m still in shock. I’ll just head over to the station now -”

“Wait! If you were robbed why do you still have your wallet?”

Nope. A robbery made no sense. Stupid brain. “They must have only wanted the shoes," I rushed out. "I was wearing one of those really rare kinds, and you know sneakerheads. They’re crazy.”

Enjolras didn’t seem convinced at all. He also didn’t seem willing to let me leave without giving an explanation.

I hid my face in my hands. On the bright side, at least it was time-efficient to destroy my reputation within the first 30 minutes of meeting someone.

“I got drunk on the beach, passed out, and someone stole my shoes. My wallet and phone were underneath me so they got spared,” I said in a single breath. It felt out of character to be so embarrassed about this. I usually wore my flaws with pride, daring anyone to respond with criticism or concern. This felt different. This _was_ different.

I slowly moved my hands to face Enjolras. He looked just as disgusted as I thought he would and somehow even more. My heart sunk. I tried to tell myself that this man was a stranger so his opinion of me was irrelevant. I didn’t believe myself for a second.

A heavy silence followed my confession as Enjolras continued to scrutinize me. I wondered if I was allowed to leave now or why I even felt like I needed permission to leave.

“Come on,” Enjolras said, releasing the weight on my heart and replacing it with confusion.

“What?”

Enjolras turned around with an impatient look and grabbed my arm again. “Despite what I think of you, I’m not going to let you freeze. I’ll drop you off somewhere.”

I thought of protesting but my frozen feet were begging for some relief. So I followed Enjolras to a small, silver Prius on the corner.

I slipped into the passenger’s side and watched as Enjolras started the car and turned on the heater. His quiet disapproval was unbearable and I could see a line of frustration on his forehead. I felt an insane urge to fix this situation but I didn’t know how. All that nervous energy reached a boiling point and soon I was rambling.

“That was cool of you back there. I certainly wouldn't have done it. Not that I hate homeless people or anything. I love homeless people. Well, I don’t love that they’re homeless. Hell, I’m almost homeless every single month. Sorry that was insensitive. I just mean... If I had been homeless, you probably would’ve restored my faith in humanity.”

By some miracle, I managed to stop talking. Enjolras snapped his seatbelt on and gave me a clipped “Thanks.”

With the atmosphere still so oppressive my second defense mechanism kicked in. “So...do you normally spend your days hiding in the shadows waiting for a conflict to escalate? Like some social justice Batman.”

Enjolras scowled, “Do you normally spend your days getting blackout drunk and stumbling around the city?”

I smirked. “Only the good ones.”

Enjolras closed his eyes tightly as if fighting for composure and mechanically turned back towards the steering wheel. “Where to?”

He punched my address into his GPS even though I insisted I could give him directions. “How can I expect you to find your apartment when you can’t even find your shoes?”

“I didn’t lose them, they were stolen,” I huffed.

Enjolras rolled his eyes.

I leaned my head against the cool windowsill. All the adrenaline and hypothermia had made it easy to ignore my hangover, but now that I was warm and calm my head pounded clearly again.

“Are you okay?” Enjolras asked, looking at me from the corner of his eyes.

“Yeah,” I murmured, “Just hungover.”

I could hear Enjolras scoff and when I opened my eyes I could practically see the snide remark on the tip of his tongue.

“I’m sorry Wayne Wheeler, have you never been drunk before?” I snapped.

“Clever,” he said, his sarcasm palpable. “A couple of times in college, but no I don’t really drink.”

“Of course you don’t,” I said under my breath, resting my head back on the windowsill.

We rode in silence for a while before I noticed that Enjolras kept shifting in his seat and stealing glances at me.

“Can I help you?” I bit out.

His gripped tightened on the wheel but kept a neutral expression. “I may have been insensitive earlier,” he started with a professional tone, “it’s apparent that you have a problem so perhaps it’s more productive if we spend this time discussing possible solutions, like AA.”

I looked out of the window and tried to gauge my chances of surviving if I jumped out of the car. Unfortunately, they were low, so I turned back towards Enjolras.

“You're seriously trying to sign me up for AA? Are you going to invite me to join your Boy Scouts troop next?”

“I’m sorry for caring,” he said, voice rising in volume, “it won’t happen again.”

I tried not to feel hurt by the statement. I deserved it, I was being an unreasonable asshole to someone who was just trying to help me. Not to mention the possibility of him being my long lost childhood crush. I should have apologized but shame tied my tongue.

Enjolras’ phone rang, the sound unbearable in the quiet car. He had one of those fancy Bluetooth systems that transferred the call to the car. A deep, steady voice came through the car speakers.

“Hey Enjolras, I didn’t see you at the Corinthe. Are we still exchanging notes before the meeting next week?”

“Oh shit! Ferre, I’m sorry. I was there but then - it’s a long story. Can I call you back? This isn’t a good time,” he said, giving me a side-eye glare.

“Yeah, sure. Call me as soon as you can,” said the other voice before hanging up.

I knew exactly what meeting they had been referring to, but I found myself wanting to ask about it anyway. It was strange getting that small glimpse into his life (possibly my Enjolras’ new life) and I wanted more.

“A meeting? So you actually are a boy scout?”

Enjolras looked a second away from slamming his head against the steering wheel - or mine.

“I’m an activist,” he said.

“Same thing,” I replied without hesitation.

“Wow, you’re hilarious. If this being a hobo thing doesn’t work out you should try stand-up.”

I shrugged. “Well, you are giving me plenty of material. What do you do?”

Enjolras chose to ignore the first statement. “I work with a group called Les Amis De L’ABC. We focus on solving a range of societal problems.”

“What problems could you possibly be solving? Cookie Monster ate all the Samoas and now you have to find a new way to teach kids about the letter O?”

I flew forward and slammed back into the seat as the car came to an abrupt stop on the side of the road.

“Ow! What the hell man?” I yelled.

“I’m giving you the chance to get out of my car before I throw you out,” said Enjolras, giving me the glare I’ve become all too familiar with.

I looked out into the dreary cold morning and wiggled my unfrozen toes. I gave Enjolras a guilty smile, “But we’re almost there.”

“You promise to stop antagonizing me?”

I raised my right hand in a three-finger salute. “Scout’s honor - Wait no! I’m sorry! I’m sorry. Last one, I promise.”

Enjolras shook his head with a frown but started the engine.

“So...tell me more about this group of yours,” I asked, fiddling with my seatbelt.

Enjolras raised a skeptical eyebrow. “Seriously?”

I nodded.

“Okay. We’re not a huge group, but we work with a lot of local chapters of other organizations. We focus on furthering progressive ideals and legislation in the city and the state. We hold events, spread awareness, and give information about national organizations that align with our causes.”

“Sounds impressive,” I said.

He gave me a suspicious look. “Was that a compliment?”

“It might’ve been.”

That made him smile. My heart stopped at the sight of it.

It's ridiculous to think that you can recognize a person by their smile. By the special way their lips curve. The crinkle of their eyes. By just how much their cheeks puff up. It's ridiculous. But then we stopped at a red light and he turned to me and said, “I should introduce myself.” He held out his hand. "I'm Enjolras Lamarque."

Of course he was, and I felt stupid for ever thinking otherwise. Who else could golden boy Enjolras Lamarque have grown up to be but this marble god of justice.

“If you're interested in my group we meet at the Musain every Thursday evening. You’re welcome to come.”

“You don’t mean that.”

“I do.”

“I’ll make you regret it.”

“No you won’t.”

“Why are you doing this?”

“It might give you something better to do with your days than drinking them away.”

“What happened to not caring?”

“I’m bad at not caring.”

The car stopped in front of my dilapidated apartment building. I got out, bare feet stinging at the cold, rough pavement. I was almost at the door when he honked the horn.

“Sorry. I just - I never got your name,” he said through his open window.

“Oh,” I said, my pulse speeding up. I didn’t want to lie to him, but the truth was completely out of the question. “I’m R,” I said, forcing my voice to sound even.

“R? Is that short for something?” he asked.

“Just R,” I replied quickly.

His lips pursed with an unasked question, and I decided to use his silence as a chance to escape inside.

“Wait!” he yelled before I made it two steps. Blue eyes searched my face. “Have we met before?”

I hid my trembling hands in my jacket pockets.”I don’t think we run in the same circles.”

“Oh,” he said nodding softly. I watched him roll up the window and gave a small wave as he drove off. He had looked a bit disappointed. I could only imagine how much more disappointed he would have been if I had said yes.

* * *

The rest of the day passed in normalcy. Feuilly had thankfully bought coffee, so I washed down a cup with aspirin and went to sleep. Finding Enjolras felt like it should have instantly changed my life, but my week fell back into its normal routine with ease. Bartending at night, sleeping in the morning, and drinking through the day. Rinse and repeat. I managed to keep myself from thinking about Enjolras’ invite at all. It wasn’t hard between the loud music and vodka shots.

I refused to check the date and walked two extra blocks for coffee just to avoid the Musain. Perhaps hoping Thursday would pass by without me noticing it. Come Wednesday, however, it tickled the back of my mind like an itch I couldn’t scratch. I went out with some guys from work, Babet and Brujon, tried to drown it down like I do with everything else. But the memory of those earnest eyes floated above it all.

I sat in silence on Thursday morning unsure of what to do with myself. It was as if I had forgotten what I normally did on Thursdays. What types of things I thought about before angels disguised as men started invading my mind. I turned on the TV and pretended to watch it for a few hours. Gave up and tried to read. I gave up on that too once I realized that I had been reading the same paragraph over and over for almost 30 minutes. It’s like I could hear the clock ticking. I didn’t even own a clock. I figured I could use the restless energy to clean up the place for once. So I picked up the trash, took the laundry downstairs, washed the dishes, and swept the floors. That didn’t take up nearly enough time so I also mopped. Before I knew it I had put myself in a manic trance and every single thing in the apartment had to be cleaned and it had to be at this exact moment. I dusted every possible surface. Made my bed and then remade it. We didn’t own a vacuum so I harassed the entire building until I managed to borrow one. I was in the middle of organizing the cabinets when my phone buzzed.

I nearly tripped over myself getting to it, hoping it would be something more interesting than stacking cans. It was just a useless notification but I couldn’t help but see the time as I checked it. Fuck. The Les Amis meeting would be starting in a few minutes. The Musain wasn’t far. I would make it if I left soon. No. What am I thinking? I should put my phone down and go clean the fridge or something. It was a courtesy invite. It’s not like he’d be waiting for me. Is he waiting for me? Shit, I needed fresh air.

I threw on my coat and my spare pair of shoes and rushed out of the apartment. The sky was already dark this time of day and I wandered aimlessly under neon lights. I could visit Feuilly at his job. Or I could head over to Eponine’s. Was I desperate enough to call Montparnasse? I tried to think of a fourth person but my mind hit a dead end. Christ, I needed more friends. I emerged from my reverie in time to notice that I was down the street from the Musain.

It had a storybook quality to it against the rest of the cold cement buildings. Its windows lit up warmly. The soft chime of a bell could be heard as people entered and left. Sounds of laughter and clinking cups spilling out the open door. Or maybe I was mixing my desires with reality. I couldn’t risk being so delusional. It’s a long fall down from a high expectation.

I spun around and weaved through the streets. My pulse beat erratically as I barely managed to dodge the strangers cascading by me. I couldn’t shake the paranoid feeling of someone chasing me. As if the Musain had raised itself from its foundation with steel beam legs and was right on my heels. I threw panicked glances over my shoulder to see if it was out of my view. My feet moved faster and faster until I was a single effort away from running. I tried to be rational and slow down. I turned a corner then another and another like I was trying to lose someone. I could’ve started laughing if I wasn’t breathing so hard. How naive was it to believe that you can confuse an emotion to keep it from finding you? The world was darker around its edges than it had been a minute ago. A wave of harsh fluorescent poured over it as I threw myself into the nearest rectangle of light. The store was colder than outside and a young, bored cashier acted as the gatekeeper between me and my 5 dollar salvation.

My skin felt too tight and I hid my hands in my pockets as I walked up to the counter.

“I’ll take a bottle of Amsterdam, peach”

“Will that be all?”

My foot tapped impatiently, “Yeah.”

“That’ll be 5.20.”

The bills sat deep in my pockets. I always had cash hidden around odd places for emergencies such as this. I shakily tossed them onto the counter.

A click. The flutter of paper. The crinkle of a bag. The tap of glass. I clutched the paper bag and mumbled thanks to the cashier as I walked back out into the darkness.

A man taking a swig straight from a bottle of vodka wouldn’t make anyone’s top 5 saddest sights in this city, so I didn’t earn a single glance as the pedestrians shuffled by. My grip loosened around the bottle as I relaxed completely. I’d say it felt like catching a train at the last possible second. That feeling when your feet hit the train floor and you know you’ve been spared from being stranded. But saying that would be too close to admitting that I have a problem.

“Hey stranger! You got a light?” someone yelled from a car in front of the shop. It took me a minute to realize they were talking to me, and another minute to realize the voice belonged to Eponine.

She was leaning out of the window, smiling, cigarette held fancifully between her fingers. I strode up to the car and pulled out my lighter.

“What’s a dame like you doing in a place like this,” I said in an exaggerated noir accent.

She laughed. “I could ask you the same thing detective,” she replied, taking a drag.

“Hey, you alright Grantaire?” asked Montparnasse from the driver’s seat, interrupting our impromptu scene. “Awful cold out to be sweating.”

I touched my forehead and felt cool beads of perspiration.

“Your face is pale too, someone give you a scare?” Eponine added.

Had I been scared? I was afraid of a lot of things: heights, snakes, my student loan debt. Was I really adding cookie-cutter idealist to the list? `It occurred to me that if reuniting with Enjolras was an arbitrary event with no consequences then I shouldn’t be freaking out. I settled down in my own bullshit long ago and not even Enjolras had the power to change that. But that was his whole deal now, changing things. Grantaire, a changed man. What a horrifying thought. Maybe change was the only thing worth being afraid of.

“Nothing I couldn’t take care of,” I said, bringing my bottle into view.

They both nodded in understanding though none of us would say it aloud. It was the biggest plus of hanging out with them. Pots didn’t make a habit of calling kettles black.

“Well, we’re headed to a party at Clasqueous’ if you’re interested,” offered Eponine.

“I thought Clasqueous was still in prison.”

“He got out on parole,” explained Montparnasse, with a proud grin.

I scoffed. “Yeah, seems like he’s taking it real serious.”

Montparnasse just shrugged.

Eponine tossed her cigarette butt onto the sidewalk and threw her head back onto the seat. “Get in the car R.”

I couldn’t think of a reason not to, so I opened the back door and got in. Correction: I could actually think of a lot of reasons. Among one being that Clasqueous was a crazy bastard who went to prison for assault. I wasn’t willing to entertain any of those reasons though so I made no objections as we drove off.

It was a normal ride with those two. Eponine flickered through the stations insisting that they only play shit on the radio these days. Montparnasse complained everytime she passed up a song he liked. I allowed myself to disassociate from it all and watched the street lights blur.

“Says the man who used all of my conditioner,” I heard Eponine shout from the front.

“It’s not even the right one for your hair type and I keep telling you this,” Montparnasse yelled back.

“You exhaust me,” Eponine grumbled. “Stop here. I need coffee.”

Montparnasse made a point of acting as inconvenienced as possible but still stopped. I jolted back to reality as the car halted.

“Come on, R,” Eponine called as she angrily stepped out of the car.

I got out automatically without taking stock of where we were, so when the welcome sign of the Musain came into view I froze in place.

“Grantaire, what are you doing?” asked Eponine who was halfway in the door and staring at me as if I’d lost my mind.

I couldn’t explain the situation to her, not now at least, so I swallowed and walked through the door. I dragged my feet behind Eponine as I searched for any familiar faces in the cafe. Neither Enjolras nor his friends were anywhere to be seen. It occurred to me that they’d be having their meeting in the back room of the Musain, and that meeting would have started about 30 minutes ago. I stopped holding my breath and walked up next to Eponine.

For being a rather low-maintenance girl, Eponine had some seriously convoluted coffee orders. I leaned boredly against the counter as she listed off words I didn’t even know the meaning of.

“Musichetta your boyfriend broke the stapler again, do you have one back there?”

My body moved faster than I ever thought possible when I heard that voice. I panicked and crouched down against the counter, hoping that Eponine would be enough to hide me.

Unfortunately, Eponine was less concerned with being a human barrier and more concerned with why I’ve thrown myself on the floor.

“One moment,” she said, smiling awkwardly as she slid down.

“Grantaire, what the hell?” she whispered. “Look me in my eye. Are you strung out right now?”

“Um I can still see you,” said Musichetta, looking down at us.

“R?”

I stood up in one quick motion. “Hey Enjolras. I was just...tying my shoe.”

Eponine stood up after me and turned to see who I was talking to. “Oh hi. I was um...helping him,” she stumbled out.

Enjolras scrunched up his eyebrows. “Helping him tie his shoes?”

“Yep,” Eponine lied without hesitation. “See he never learned as a child, poor thing,” she said in a hushed tone.

I hid my face in my hands. Maybe I should give up coffee. Only bad things seem to happen when I’m near it.

Enjolras looked like he desperately wanted to ask follow-up questions, but he nodded and moved on.

“Are you coming to the meeting? It’s already started but the invite still stands,” he asked, setting down two pieces of a once whole stapler.

“I would but my friend here invited me to something really important, right Eponine?" I said, giving her a pointed look.

Eponine was too busy giving Enjolras a once-over to notice my glare. “That was before I knew Don Quixote over here made plans with you tonight.”

“Eponine,” I gritted out.

She turned to me with a mischievous smile and whispered, “This is why you’ve been weird all week isn’t it?”

Before I could vehemently deny her accusation she turned around and loudly announced, “I’m actually quite tired. I think Parnasse and I will head back to his apartment.”

“You boys have a nice meeting,” she said with a wink as she grabbed her coffee.

She walked out, the door chiming behind her. The cafe recovered from its shock returning to its usual noises and ambiance. I turned around to find Enjolras holding a new stapler and looking at me with equal parts amusement and concern.

“Do you cause a scene every time you get coffee?" he asked, eyebrow raised.

“Only when you're around it seems,” I said and then bit my tongue because why did I say that.

Enjolras smiled. “You look nicer when you don’t sleep outside,” he said.

It was the worst compliment you could ever give anyone but my dumb face turned red anyway.

“Come on,” he said, gesturing to the backroom door. “You can slip into an empty chair for now and introduce yourself after the meeting is over.”

“Yipee,” I mumbled. I was surprised when Enjolras let out a little snort of laughter.

He opened up the door and led me into what I can only assume was a bureaucratic themed circle of hell that Dante missed. Papers, manilla folders, newspaper clippings, and laptops littered the tables. The room was fitted with a chalkboard most likely meant for coffee jokes and specials. Instead it was filled to the brim with names, locations, and dates. An old bar dartboard hung up in the corner with pinned up pictures of local officials. The jury was still out on whether they were using it as a makeshift cork board or if they were playing darts with the mayor’s face.

No one looked up as we entered the room. They were all engrossed in various activities ranging from investigative research to parlor tricks. I treated my seat decision like a classroom and chose one in the back near the least focused of the bunch.

“I’m telling you they can only do it in movies Bahorel,” the bald guy next to me said.

“No dude I’ve seen people do it. It’s possible,” replied the burly man. He was breathing onto a spoon, trying to hang it on his nose.

“Guys stop that, it’s unsanitary! People put those in their mouths,” squeaked the guy between them.

The trio hadn’t noticed me when I took a seat at the end of their table. “You’ve got it all wrong,” I said, causing them to jump. “You can’t just fog up the spoon and expect it to hang. You’ve gotta rub it on your nose to make it stick - like this.”

I let go of the spoon with a flourish and gave my head a little shake to prove it wouldn’t fall. The table went wild with applause.

It petered off as we noticed the rest of the room staring at us in silence. Enjolras was standing up at the front of the room and had been trying to gather everyone's attention.

“Well since you’ve already managed to derail us I’ll introduce you now. Everyone, this is R,” he deadpanned.

I was greeted with curious and welcoming glances.

“It’s nice to meet you. I’m Joly and this is Bousset,” said one of the boys I’d been talking to.

“I’m Bahorel,” said the other guy, he hit my back in a friendly gesture and my spine almost cracked.

“We’re not wasting time by going around the room and introducing ourselves. You guys can do that afterward,” Enjolras said, exasperated.

“Ooh let’s all pull our chairs into a circle and do icebreakers,” suggested the man with dreads and an obnoxious Hawaiian shirt.

“Courfeyrac we all know each other,” said the man next to him in glasses.

“Let’s him hear out Combeferre. We could all stand to know eachother better.”

This came from the sweet-looking blonde. Her hair was longer than Enjolras’ but darker, and she wore a floral dress that fell around her knees. The boy next to her was the same one I had seen with her the other day. I assumed they must be dating by the affectionate way they were with each other.

“Cossette’s right. Now that I think about it I don’t know anyone's favorite color,” confessed the freckled boy.

“Not even Enjolras’?” asked Courfeyrac. “All he wears is red, Marius. His closet is like a cartoon character’s.”

“That’s not fair,” replied Bousset. “He had that one yellow phase.”

“Enough!” Enjolras interjected. “We need to concentrate. No icebreakers, no more introducing yourselves, and it wasn’t a phase.”

I grinned at Enjolras’ frustrated gaze. “Am I making you regret it yet?”

His mouth twitched at the edges. “You’re going to have to try harder than that.”

My face lit up at the response and he was quick to amend himself. “That was not a challenge.”

I had indirectly learned everyone's names and I took a minute to remind myself who each person was. It occurred to me that I missed someone as I caught a glimpse of a figure partly obscured by the lovebirds. I was in the middle of scooting my chair to see them when I felt a poke on my arm. I turned to face a beaming Bahorel, spoon hanging successfully off his nose.

The meeting finished without any more interruption, and the Musain was closing when we dismissed. I begged Musichetta to sell me a cup of coffee before she closed the register. I reached into my deep coat pockets to find that my booze was still nestled in there and hadn’t been left in Montparnasse’s car. I was in the middle of making my coffee Irish when Enjolras interrupted me.

“Still think we’re a bunch of boy scouts - really R?" he sneered, startling me.

I had the decency to be embarrassed but not for long. “It’s a free country, Enjolras,” I drawled. "You sure went on about that long enough in there."

“Was our idealism so unbearable that you need to get drunk?” he snapped.

I put the lid back on my coffee and took a purposeful sip in his direction. “Bold of you to assume I wasn’t already drunk when I arrived.”

His eyebrows turned down at a cartoonish angle. “That’s not funny R.”

“Who said I was joking?"

He eyed the small bottle poking out of my pocket and with a flash of anger grabbed it and threw it in the trashcan next to us.

“What the hell man!” I yelled, my brain trying to wrap around what just happened.

“It’s for your own good,” he said sternly, crossing his arms.

I was in disbelief. How did this man exist? And how has no one punched him in the face yet?

“Who the hell do you think you are? The Pope? You can’t tell me what’s good for me. I paid money for that!”

He was about to retort but I held up my hand to stop him. “Don’t,” I warned, turning away. 

“R wait!” he called after me.

“What?” I spat.

He bent down. “Your shoes are untied. Let me.”

“I know how to tie my own shoes Enjolras!”

“I don’t know what Enjolras has done to give you an aneurysm but I should at least introduce myself before you die,” interrupted a soft voice. 

I looked at the colorfully dressed person in front of me with their long, ebony hair french braided back. They held out their hand, their nails looked like a stained glass window. I choked on my spiked coffee. There’s no fucking way.

“I’m Jehan. My pronouns are they/them.”

So they were non-binary. I smiled despite my initial panic. It made sense.

I cleared my throat and shook their hand, “I’m R. He/him. Unless you're Enjolras here then my pronouns are The Demon and Unholy One.”

Enjolras audibly growled at that.

Jehan bit back a smile and said, “R? That’s a curious name.” They didn’t look suspicious, they asked it as if they were simply thinking out loud. “I’ve only known one other person called that. Is it short for Grantaire?”

I gripped my cup so hard at the question I’m surprised the lid didn’t pop off. I noticed Enjolras no longer looked angry but was completely focused on me. His eyes gave away that he himself must have been wanting to ask this, and he was now desperate for my answer. I forced calm over my voice. “No, it’s not.”

The atmosphere deflated though no one visibly showed it.

“I should leave,” I said, my voice suddenly frustrated.

A few seconds passed and I didn’t move. Enjolras tapped his foot. “Well what are you waiting for then?”

I sighed. “I’m waiting for you to turn around so I can get my shit out of the trash.”

He stared at me in thought for a moment then said, “You’re pathetic,” and walked away. I felt slapped by the way he said it. His tone wasn’t accusatory or resigned. It was observational. He told me I was pathetic as if he was telling me that my shirt was green.

“Don’t mind him. He becomes terrible when he cares about something but doesn’t know how to fix it.”

I jumped a little having forgotten Jehan was still there. I disagreed with their justification but didn’t have the energy to argue. I considered them. I had so many questions. Did they and Enjolras reconnect or did they stay friends all these years? Did they go to the same college? Did they make the group together? I wanted Jehan to tell me everything that happened after I drove away that day, down to the second. That would require telling the truth though. I shook myself out of my thoughts to realize that Jehan was also considering me.

They startled subtly when they noticed me looking at them. “Sorry, I was just thinking about how familiar you look.”

“Oh, I do?” I asked nervously.

“You bartend at that place with the funny name, right? The Sergeant of Waterloo?"

I smiled in relief. “Yeah, you go there?”

They shrugged. “Once or twice. Not enough to remember it. But you, you I remember.”

I wasn’t sure if Jehan was hitting on me, but the very idea was surreal.

They laughed. “I’m not trying to take you home I promise. That was just a compliment,” they said as if they read my mind. That was the scary thing about Jehan. Even when we were younger they made me feel like an open book, and it seems they’ve only gotten better at it.

“But that brings me to my actual ulterior motive. I work for a magazine and we’re doing a piece on the city’s alternative nightlife,” they said.

“I wouldn’t call Waterloo ‘alternative nightlife.’ Unless by alternative you mean for people who instead of having a decent night want to alternatively pass out in a dirty bathroom.”

They ignored my sarcasm, which is always a good decision. “I’m just trying to cover all of my bases.”

“Okay well, I can get you in touch with the owners if you want. I should warn you though, they will lie to you.”

“I was actually hoping to interview you. Authenticity and all that,” they said, waving their hand dismissively. “Plus, you wouldn’t lie to me, would you?”

I knew a loaded question when I heard one. I needed to get out of here.

“Um sure, when do you want to do it?” I rushed out.

“I’ll come to the bar. Is Saturday good for you?”

“Yeah, we can talk before my shift starts.”

Instead of putting their number in my phone like a normal person, they pulled out a pen and grabbed my arm. They rolled up my sleeve and wrote swirling, pretty numbers across my skin.

“There. Text me the time,” they said before turning to walk out of the cafe.

Most of the group had already filtered out. Joly and Bousset were helping Musichetta stack the chairs on the table for the night. I turned and grabbed my bottle from off the top of the garbage. It had really been a fishing alcohol out of a trashcan kind of day, hadn’t it. I said goodbye to the lingering group and stepped out into the cold.

* * *

I was sitting at one of the back tables, pulling at my sleeves. Jehan had texted about twenty minutes ago that they were on their way. Luckily, I wasn’t scheduled to open tonight so I had some time to sit and think as the early customers shuffled in. I forced myself to stop fidgeting and tried to be reasonable. Jehan was just coming over to ask me some prepared questions about the bar. I would list off some of our events and special drinks. Probably tell Thenadier's bullshit story about how the place got its name. Blah, blah, blah. I could do it in my sleep. There wasn’t any room for this to go wrong. If I applied some tact, I might even get some answers to my own questions. I wasn’t surprised that both of them lived in the city. It wasn’t far from where we had grown up. But the fact that they’d been here, together, right under my nose was keeping me up at night.

“Looks like you could use this.”

I looked up to see Eponine holding a gin and tonic which she sat down in front of me. “It’s on the house,” she said with a wink.

“I think you meant to say ‘it’s coming out of your paycheck.'”

She laughed. “Don’t worry I’ll fix the books for you. When is your friend coming?”

“Any minute now,” I said, leg beginning to shake again.

“Remember to say only good things!" she said, pointing a manicured finger at me for emphasis, “Or else Thenadier is going to kill you. And I’d prefer you alive, you’re the only bastard I can stand in this place.” She threw an annoyed look at our coworkers and sauntered away to attend to someone at the bar.

As if on cue the heavy door swung open and Jehan walked in. Their outfit couldn’t have stuck out more with the rustic theming of the bar. They were wearing a lime green two-piece with a long black overcoat and stark white shoes. It worked in the way that some people seem able to make clothes look good that no one else can pull off. Their style wasn’t nearly as tacky as it used to be but it was more outlandish. Their eyes lit up when they spotted me, and their coat swished dramatically as they maneuvered through the bar.

“Sorry for the delay. I see you started without me,” they said gesturing towards the gin and tonic I’d been sipping on.

“Would you like anything?” I offered. “No need to pay. Consider it a bribe on behalf of the bar.”

“Sir, you offend my journalistic integrity,” they laughed, a hand held mockingly over their heart. “I’ll have a Bloody Mary, please and thank you.”

I huffed out a laugh and left to make their drink. When I came back they had their laptop set up on the table.

“Thank you,” they said automatically as I set the drink down. “So, it’s a quick and easy process just like I promised. I have some prepared questions we’re asking everyone. A few things I’d like to know myself, and you can feel free to add anything you think our readers should know. Okay?”

I took a gulp of my drink and nodded.

The questions were easy and predictable. A lot of them focused on the bar's history. The place had a fun one. It started out as a speakeasy during Prohibition, so the front of the bar looked like a furniture shop. The original furniture store sign was still up. Made for a nice little tourist trap. Jehan was curious about the name. Everyone was. I could hear Thenadier’s gruff voice coursing through me as I told them about it. His grandfather was supposedly a World War I hero and Sergeant Waterloo was his code name. He was actually a draft dodger who got rich from illegal alcohol. The family would continue to have a history of crime and cowardice. They had a small fortune until Thenadier lost everything but the bar. That’s all on a need to know basis though. Instead, I added in a harmless antidote about Thenadier’s little shop of horrors. Which was where he sold or gave away things people “left” at the bar. Everything from Rolexes to glass eyes.

It was a surprisingly nice time and our glasses were empty when we finished up.

“I know your shift is going to start soon, but this last part only takes a minute. It’s a rapid-fire quiz we give the interviewees and we display a few of them at the end of the segment.” they said closing their laptop.

“Rapid-fire?”

“I know it’s silly, but the boss insists the readers love it. I’ll ask a question and you say the first answer that pops in your head. I’ll throw a few random ones in there to help keep the pace going. Ready?”

“Um yeah, ready.”

Jehan looked me deep in the eyes and I felt a strange, giddy intensity for the rather childish thing we were about to do.

“Cats or dogs?”

“Cats.”

“Clubs or bars?”

“Clubs.”

“Favorite color?”

“Green.”

Favorite drink?

“Old Fashioned if I’m lying. Appletini if I’m honest.”

“First job?”

“Cart-pusher.”

“First name?”

“Grantaire.”

“You lying bastard!”

I did a double take at Jehan’s words and replayed the conversation in my head. Oh fuck. I gasped in delayed shock and shoved my hand over my mouth.

“Jehan...I didn’t...I meant…” My mouth hung open as my brain searched for words to recover the situation. I wasn’t sure if I was looking for another lie or an apology. I made up my mind when I saw Jehan’s face. They didn’t look as angry as they had sounded. Just hurt.

“I’m sorry,” I mumbled to the table. I couldn’t bear to look up and see their expression. My mouth felt dry and I swallowed hard. I was ashamed but I wasn’t sure what I was more ashamed of. That I’d been caught in my lie or that I ever felt the need to lie in the first place. My head snapped up at the sound of a chair falling and I hardly had a second to register what happened before Jehan’s arms wrapped around me.

“You idiot. I missed you,” they whispered.

There wasn’t enough space between us for my pride so I hugged them back tightly and whispered, “I missed you too.”

We stayed like that for a while before Jehan finally pulled away. They blushed a bit at the stares we’d garnered as they picked up their chair from where it had dramatically crashed to the floor.

“How did you know?”

“Your left eye twitched when you said your name wasn’t Grantaire. It was a tell that you were lying when you were eleven and it still is,” they answered.

I unconsciously touched my left eye. Did it really twitch when I lied? How many people knew that?

“Can I ask something?” Jehan said, interrupting my thoughts.

I knew what they’d ask and I didn’t want them to, but I guess it was inevitable. “Go ahead.”

“Why did you lie?”

Deep down I’m sure I knew. But the answer was clouded behind a dozen other things I wasn’t willing to admit. So I shook my head. “I don’t know.”

Jehan reached out for my hands but I slid them away. They frowned and let their own hands rest on the table.

“Does it have something to do with Enjolras?” they asked.

“Is it that obvious?"

Jehan let out a sigh. “He’d be happy to know that it’s you.”

My hands curled into fists on my lap. “Would he? You’ve seen our interactions. He couldn't handle the truth of what I’ve become.”

Jehan didn’t respond immediately. They searched my face and once again I had the sensation that they were reading all the secrets of my heart.

“Are you sure Enjolras is the one who can’t handle the truth?”

Their voice was soft and comforting in tone but anger began to surface in me.

“Jehan don’t I -,” I closed my mouth and swallowed down my frustration.

“My shift is starting,” I said looking away from them.

“I’m sorry,” they mumbled softly, reaching down to grab their bag. I continued to look away as I heard them stand.

“Are you going to come to the next meeting?”

I met their onyx eyes. “No.”

Jehan beamed. “Yes you are. Your left eye just twitched.”

* * *

I went to the next meeting and the next and the next.

I didn’t understand why, nor did I want to. Every Thursday evening I just allowed myself to give in to the urge to go to the Musain. Enjolras was surprised the second time I showed up. He looked up when I came in and stopped for a moment as if he was going to say something. Whatever it was, it jammed in his throat, and he went back to his papers wordlessly.

The surprise lessened as my perfect attendance continued. He didn’t understand it but he didn’t care to question it. No one understood it really. I’d spend the entire time doodling on the backs of printouts and napkins. Only lifting my head to heckle Enjolras. My attitude towards the group’s aspirations was indifferent if not cynical. Still, every Thursday I came. So while they didn’t understand, they accepted it.

Well that’s not entirely true. Jehan seemed to understand better than I did. They'd sit next to me during the meetings and it made me feel calmer. Though sometimes I’d argue with Enjolras and he’d say something particularly awful. I guess I’d get this look on my face because Jehan would suddenly fidget and purse their lips. As if they were fighting the urge to reveal my identity. To warn Enjolras that the old woman he was turning away from his castle was actually a beautiful witch. Or in this case that the drunkard he was insulting was actually the first boy he had ever kissed.

Things stayed like that for a while. Most days I felt overwhelmed by Enjolras, other days I felt deprived. My relationship with him was almost nonexistent yet it was better than I thought I’d ever have again. So I cycled through the weeks existing somewhere between wanting less and needing more.

It was the end of March when I got a text from Jehan.

Jehan: can you come over?

R: why

Jehan: I need help with something

Jehan: pls it’s an emergency :(

It was miserable outside. The gray March sky more suffocating than smoke. I shivered in my jacket, too thin for the weather, and tried to remember something Jehan had told me in their eternal optimism. It was something about how March’s beauty was in its affinity for endings. Whatever the hell that meant. All I knew was that winter was supposed to be coming to an end. I stuffed my hands deeper into my pockets, it didn’t feel like it was.

Jehan lived in a loft on the other side of the city. Cozy was a term real estate agents used to pretend an apartment wasn’t unrealistically small, but it was the right term for Jehan’s apartment. They were one of those people who thought every bad mood could be cured with a succulent, so the place had enough plants to provide oxygen to the entire building. The furniture was that comfy sort that came from second-hand shops. Decorated with a mix up of throws and pillows they’d found at different times. The rugs didn’t match the walls and the shelves were crowded with knick-knacks and it was all perfectly Jehan.

The place had the unusual quality of seeming prepared for something when I arrived. Dishes and food sat on all the countertops. The couches had been cleared. They even had one of those rotating whiteboards set up against a wall.

“Throwing a party?” I asked as I followed Jehan to their kitchen.

“Our friends are coming over,” they said, adjusting the tight bun atop their head.

“ _Our_ friends?”

They rolled their eyes and passed by me, kimono swishing between their ankles. “I’ve no time for your melodrama Grantaire. If I felt like dealing with your particular brand of melancholy today I'd be reading Poe in the dark.”

“Fair,” I sighed. “What did you need help with?”

They grabbed a jar of salsa from the fridge. “Open this.”

“You’re kidding me.”

They shrugged, biting back a grin. “You said you’d help.”

I glared at them suspiciously but popped the lid off of the jar. “That was it?”

“That was it,” they said, pouring the salsa into a bowl. “But…”

Here it comes.

“Since you’re already here it would be rude not to stay for the party,”

“This was a trap,” I said in indignation.

“Yep,” they exclaimed, smiling proudly at themselves. “Now fill the chip bowls.”

“Atleast tell me why we’re all getting together. Is this another meeting?"

They inched towards the whiteboard. “Nope, it’s way better than a meeting.”

I was trying to open a strange bag of tortilla chips Jehan must’ve gotten from the farmer’s market when I heard the board roll across the floor. I looked up to see it looming over me. Jehan flipped it over with a flourish to reveal a complex series of markings. Written at the very top in blue expo marker were the words "Mario Kart Finals."

“If that means what I think it does I’m jumping out the window.”

Jehan pouted. “It started out as one friendly game when we had nothing else to do, but this a competitive group. The whole thing has gotten way out of hand, so for everyone’s sake I’m putting an end to it.”

I’d think they were joking but their face was deadly serious. I didn’t find it surprising that the Amis had managed to take playing a kid’s game too far. Yet no matter how hard I tried I couldn’t imagine Enjolras playing Mario Kart. He’d probably start complaining about how it glorifies cars to the youth and increases the carbon footprint.

“And everyone is a part of this? Even Enjolras?”

“Enjolras is the worst of all,” Jehan grumbled. “You should see him play Monopoly. He’s all ‘this game is capitalist propaganda’ when he’s losing, then the minute he’s winning he’s sending everyone to jail.”

“And before you try to get out of it, you’re playing too,” they added.

Jehan was impossible to argue with so I accepted my fate and filled the chip bowls.

All the food was set up when everyone began to arrive. Soon the mini foyer was full of jackets, scarves, and shoes. More food and drinks began piling up on the tables and Bahorel, angel that he is, brought beer. So at least I wouldn’t have to feel awkward _and_ sober.

Jehan booted up the game and explained how the tournament would work. Four players would compete in three rounds. A point would be assigned based on what number you place. The person with the lowest number of points at the end of three rounds was out, and someone else jumped in. The last four players would do one round for all the glory.

Enjolras scowled as I opened up my second can and joined the mass of limbs on the carpet. Any possible argument was derailed by the excited shouts of the first round starting. Things started out rather pleasant. Everyone was supportive and courteous. That lasted exactly one round.

“Bahorel you suck,” said Courfeyrac as Bahorel disqualified.

Bahorel frowned and reached for a bowl of chips. “I have feelings you know.”

“Feelings don’t win Mario Kart,” Courfeyrac responded, reaching for Bahorel’s controller.

“Ooh I want to jump in,” said Bousset.

Bahorel stuck his tongue out at Courfeyrac and passed the controller to Bousset.

“Don’t break another one of my controllers!” yelled Jehan from the kitchen.

“That analog stick just popped out,” he whined.

Ten minutes in and the screen froze. “Bousset what have you done?” said Joly, mashing all the buttons on his controller.

“There’s no way I did this,” Bousset replied, throwing his hands up.

Jehan rebooted the console and to everyone’s relief, Bousset lost.

The atmosphere was infectious and I laughed easier than I had in a while. I was content to sit in the back and enjoy watching the group’s dynamics, but after Joly and Combferre were both disqualified Jehan insisted I play.

“Combeferre, would you please hand the controller to R,” they said from where they sat above me on the couch.

“Sure. You want to play R?” asked Combeferre holding the controller out to me.

“Jehan stop,” I gritted out, leaning my head back to glare up at them.

Jehan was about to reply when they were interrupted. “Jehan lay off him,” said Courfeyrac, who was draped across the loveseat controller in his lap. “This much talent must be intimidating to someone new.”

I turned to Combeferre. “I’ll take that controller.”

Courfeyrac was freakishly good at Mario Kart, but I hadn’t gotten this far in life without learning a thing or two about beating chaotic Nintendo games.

Cosette was in a trance of inhuman focus. She had managed to stay in since the very first round. Marius sat next to her, their feet entangled, trying to keep up. “You’re really good at this Cosette. Aww look we’re side by side. Ooh now I’m in front that’s - Did you just boomerang me? You did it again!”

Enjolras finally jumped in after Marius lost.

“You sure took your sweet time entering the competition,” said Courfeyrac as we voted on tracks.

Enjolras grinned wider than I’d ever seen. “That would imply that I consider any of you competition.”

I choked on the swig of beer I had been taking. Oh this was going to be fun.

I could no longer distinguish who was screaming anymore. Voices crashing together in shouts of victory and wails of defeat. At some point, even I was screaming.

“R no! I swear if you use that blue shell!" shouted Cosette. “R! No no no. You fucking -”

I was gifted with a surprisingly long string of expletives from the girl who had been previously telling me about the songbird she rescued.

Jehan was the only person who hadn’t joined in yet, so they were forced to play after Cosette was booted. It soon became obvious why they were so intent on ending the Mario Kart beef. They were horrible at it.

“Maybe I’d get better at it R if I had more encouraging friends!” Jehan yelled as they fell in last.

“We are encouraging friends!” Courfeyrac protested, gliding into second place.

Enjolras passed the finish line and took first. “Ha! Yes! That’s what you get for playing as Princess Peach Courf! Toad is the people’s champion!”

Jehan looked at me and pointed an accusatory finger at Enjolras. “What did I tell you? The worst of all!”

Enjolras only responded with a fake surprised gasp.

Cosette made it into the final round since she had the most points and we needed a fourth player. The room was divided between excitement to see a winner and relief that this nightmare was finally about to be over. 

I hadn’t seen Enjolras animated like this in so long. He was beautiful contorted by fury and passion, but his wide eyes and smiles were lovely. The air around him was light and his words spilled out unguarded. I joked with him and I didn’t feel the weight of the secrets between us. I lost myself in the sheer ease of it all.

I teased him as we fought to overtake eachother. I swerved off the course when he elbowed me lightly in the side.

“You cheater! Someone had to see that! Ref! I’m calling a foul!” I shouted over the sound of Enjolras laughing hysterically.

Musichetta shook her head solemnly. “In the interest of time, the Ref is turning a blind eye.”

“What? Isn’t this the sort of injustice you're supposed to be fighting?”

Enjolras wiped at his eyes. “Stop it, you’re distracting me!”

He was smiling from ear to ear and I didn’t know a single drug that could match the ecstasy I felt at the sight of it.

“You’re a tyrant Apollo.”

I didn’t notice the way his face blanched or how his fingers slid off the controller. All I saw was his little video game kart roll over the edge of the course. A screaming Courfeyrac jumped to his feet as he took over first place and won the tournament.

The room erupted into applause and booing as Courfeyrac held the controller above his head like a trophy.

“You’re suspiciously quiet,” said Jehan, bringing our attention to a stiff Enjolras staring mutely at the game over screen.

Enjolras jolted as if he had forgotten we were all in the room. “Oh, um good game everyone. Congratulations Courfeyrac,” he said with a strained smile.

Everyone dismissed it as disappointment at losing and went back to their conversations. I knew what was coming when I caught his gaze. When the look in his eyes was heavier than anything else I’d ever felt between us. I realized what I called him, and I jumped up suddenly uncomfortable in my skin. I turned away from Enjolras and pretended not to hear my full name whispered behind me. I made my way to the bathroom and pretended that the quick steps following me weren’t real. I walked in shutting the door and pretended I was surprised when a red sneaker caught it before it closed.

My heart pulsed with fear. Fear of my poorly constructed fantasy crashing down and revealing the reality of my life. Fear of having someone measure the distance of just how far I’ve fallen. Fear of the slight chance that who I was and who I am aren’t as far apart as I thought. The truth was that I’d been pissing myself with fear since the moment I heard Enjolras’ name in the Musain, and I was out of time to deny it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things are about to get angsty. 
> 
> Very Important: I'm one of those nerds who make playlists based on the stories I'm reading so if any chapter makes you think of a particular song make sure to comment it. It will bring me immense joy and I might even make a playlist for everyone.


	3. Anger

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "The truth will set you free, but first it will piss you off."
> 
> \- Joe Klass

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First order of business, I want to thank everyone who gave song recs. They were ALL brilliant and I have compiled my favorites and put them into this here playlist: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/7xnQjujDY95gBT3iv6LoXe?si=3IPO3nhNTbuUWJ9nzzXqGw
> 
> Keep them coming and I'll keep updating the playlist.
> 
> Now on to the story. I apologize in advance for the lack of funnies and abundance of sads. Enjoy!

My mother often took me to mass when I was a little boy, though she wasn’t very religious. She had been raised a strict Catholic but she never talked about Jesus and we didn’t even own a bible. Sometimes though I’d patter through the house looking for her, and I’d find her clutching the glass bead rosary she kept hidden in her drawer. Her fingers would stroke the beads and her mouth would move, but it seemed different from how the old church ladies did it. I could never tell if she was praying or remembering.

One mass I sat next to her in the pew. She wore one of her nicer dresses with black heels she bought from Goodwill and polished all night. She had covered my curls in gel to keep them in place and rolled up the sleeves of my buttoned-down shirt that hung too long.

The priest was adorned in purple robes and he spoke gravely at the altar. It was the story of Noah’s Ark. I was too young to understand anything about chosen ones or obedience. All I understood was that God was angry and flooded the entire world.

There was a thunderstorm that night. Noises like furious shouts crashed through the skies and rain whipped across my window. I cried and screamed and begged for mercy but heaven’s anger only seemed to increase. A bolt of lightning shot through my window and with a shriek I ran out my room to my mother’s. I crawled in her bed sobbing. I told her that we must have been bad so we were going to drown. She ran her thumbs under my eyes and lifted the covers for me to crawl underneath. She held me and whispered, “Mijo, the important part isn’t the flood, it’s the Ark.”

I held on to her tightly until sleep won over fear. That night I dreamed that the entire world flooded, but we were safe. Floating along on her bed.

* * *

I watched Jehan’s bathroom tap drip.

“R look at me.”

I didn’t want to look at him. I’ve seen Enjolras standing atop of school desks staring down teachers. Eyeing six-foot drops into lakes as he completed deadly adolescent dares. Even correcting bristling strangers twice his size. And never then nor now in all the time of knowing him and his foolish courage had I ever seen him look so scared.

“You’re Grantaire Ramirez, aren’t you?”

I finally understood what people meant when they said a person looked like one breeze could knock them over. Only in Enjolras’ case, it wasn’t a breeze but a breath. The single breath it would take me to say the word ‘Yes.’

His voice shook as he said, “You called me Apollo. Only he ever called me Apollo.”

I shook my head violently, “I didn’t -”

“Stop pretending I’m crazy!”

He was screaming now. Voice raw with the effort. I could hear shuffling outside the door. Muffled gasps and hushes.

“I didn’t…” My voice broke and I stopped talking. I felt a pain in the back of my eyes and tore my gaze away from him. His face was creating the strangest cocktail of hope and disappointment, and I couldn’t bear the sight of it. It felt as though the sun was exploding and I happened to be in the kill zone.

“I’m not crazy,” he mumbled, his voice dying in his throat. I saw him look away from me out of the corner of my vision. Maybe there was something in my face he couldn’t bear to see either.

“Tell me the truth,” he said, voice hard and demanding.

The truth? The whole situation was suddenly hilarious. The idealist wanted the truth. The man who still created make-believe worlds wanted to judge mine. This...this  _ child  _ that babbled for hours about justice and goodness thought he could even begin to understand me. I laughed hysterically, holding onto the sink to keep my balance. Enjolras’ face twisted in confusion, arms loosening at his side.

I must have sounded deranged. Whoever was outside tried to get in, the knob turning. Enjolras had locked the door behind him, so it didn’t do more than rattle. I laughed hoarsely over the sounds of knocking. Jehan’s voice came muffled from the other side, “Enjolras open the door! What’s happening? Come out both of you and we can deal with this right!”

I heard Courfeyrac groan. “This is ridiculous. Bahorel come knock down the door!”

“No one is knocking down my door!” Jehan shouted back. “Enjolras! Open the door!”

Enjolras didn’t move an inch. He stood there, stone-faced, waiting for an answer. His eyes glazed over with cement. I sobered at the sight of it.

“The truth is that I am Grantaire Ramirez,” I said with a malicious smile.

Enjolras sucked in a breath, which I found odd considering that there was no way he was surprised. Unless a part of him had actually been begging for this whole ordeal to be some silly misunderstanding.

“It is me. The original member of your La-La land cult,” I added giving him a mock bow. “I’m sure you were delighted that your lackey might be back for service. I’m sorry to inform you that between 11 and 24  _ I _ actually embraced reality.”

I was tired of his statuesque reactions. I wanted him to break down crying or to punch me in the face. I had no more patience for this unsaid war between us. It was going to end one way or another.

I never got the satisfaction. Instead, his marble facade remained. The only shift was the deepening of his frown.

“What happened to you R?” he whispered, and something far worse than disgust was painted on his face. Pity.

I wished he would have just punched me. It would've hurt less.

I shoved passed him and unlocked the door. Jehan stepped back before the door could slam into them. They reached out for me, “Grantaire stop!”

I pried their hands from my hoodie and pushed through the small crowd that had gathered near the door. Concerned voices called out behind me.

“R!”

“Is he okay?”

“Enjolras, what happened?”

They grew distant as I left the loft and ran down the stairs. I was grateful that no one had decided to make an idiot of themselves and follow me.

I opened the building door and tried to breathe in the fresh air. My lungs felt incapable of filling up, and I hyperventilated. It was all too much. The people walking by, oblivious to my struggle. The cars roaring by without notice. The pigeons at my feet indifferent to my troubles. The world was too big and apathetic.

I walked back to my apartment, quiet and closed in on myself. It was dark out now. Only a couple of stars had managed not to be outshined by the lights of the city. I looked up at them remembering all the fairytales and nursery rhymes I’d been fed as a child. The stars were supposed to be the vehicles of dreams. Back then I’d wish on stars every night like a prayer. I had nothing to wish for. I was happy. My only wish was that I’d always be that happy. But stars didn’t have ears to hear you or hearts to empathize. They were just balls of gas. Burning balls of gas floating helplessly in space. They had no time to grant a little boy’s wishes, they were dying too.

I paused my steps. If I wanted to stop these dark thoughts then I was headed the wrong way. The closest bar was in the other direction.

* * *

Few things in life are as dependable as a good bar. The same songs played every night, the same blue neon lights shined outside, and the same people stumbled in and out.

I learned the quirks and nuances of every bar in the city. I knew which ones were meant for partying and which ones were meant for forgetting. I was practically guaranteed a job if Thenadier ever decided to let me go. Except for the few bars I’d got so plastered in I was kicked out. That didn’t exactly scream ‘good work ethic.’

I slipped through the front door of one of my regulars.

If some bars were for the dead and some for the living, then this one was the River Styx. Accessible to anyone at the risk of being pulled down with the rest of us. The drinks were as low quality and cheap as a college bar and the people were rowdy and boisterous. Sometimes the crowd wasn’t jaded enough for my taste but they had good music and atmosphere so I kept coming back. I could appreciate a place that had a reputation for roof-raising but didn’t judge you when you fell on the floor.

Someone had once told me I was charming when I was drunk. I think the alcohol had dissolved their brain but maybe they were onto something. It was never too hard for me to find temporary friends for a night. I suppose it worked both ways. I’m no James Bond when I’m wasted but nobody in a dive bar is super picky about company. If you're not planning to remember a night then anyone will do.

I definitely didn't remember much about the guy who had attached himself to me. I remember hating his voice. It had a dog-whistle quality to it, far too high to seem natural. But he had shoulder-length blonde hair and I liked the way it swayed when he talked. I suggested we go to the club because he said his feet felt too restless to sit down. I liked the way the music drowned him out. Until it was just glimpses of gold under cheap flashing lights.

I should give him more credit. He was a good dancer and an even better sport. Some people can’t accept or tell that they’re just a substitute for someone else. Others can and they don’t care. I wondered if he was running his hands through my hair imagining it was someone else’s too. I found that I didn’t care either.

I lost him at some point. Replaced him. Lost that person too. Soon the DJ packed up and it was time to leave. The closing motto for any bar is “You don’t have to go home, but you can’t stay here.” They never account for when you would very much like to be home but you can’t remember what direction home is. I circled the same block three times insisting that I recognized the building on the corner. Eventually, I made it to the park halfway to my apartment.

I stumbled off the path to throw up in one of the metal trash cans. I decided to sit on a fake wooden bench until the dizziness faded away. The poorly painted plastic didn’t feel half-bad underneath my tired body. I laid down and adjusted myself. In fact, compared to standing, laying on the bench felt heavenly. It occurred to me that I was about to do something very stupid. It also occurred to me that I was stupid, so whatever I was about to do would be on brand. Still, it looked as though the stars formed the constellation of a judging pair of eyes as I fell asleep.

It was a dreamless sleep, and I had the terrifying sensation of being waterboarded when I woke. Unlike everything that had happened in March, the gray skies had gathered with a purpose. April was beginning with a bang, and I squinted my eyes against the torrential rain.

* * *

I sat up, the drops that had been collecting in pools on my face ran down my cheeks and neck. It would have been fruitless to try and find shelter. The rain had started so furiously that my clothes were already soaked through. Rainstorms made for good hangover cures because I couldn’t feel anything but the uncomfortable weight of wet socks and jeans.

I panicked in fear for my phone that must have gotten waterlogged, only to realize I didn't even have it. That was an entirely new thing to panic over, but it would have to wait.

My shoes squelched on the wet sidewalk as I dragged myself through the park. In the lucidity of morning I knew exactly where I was, which was not nearly as close as I wanted to be to home. I’d call the passersby rude for not offering an umbrella but it would’ve been useless to offer it now anyway. Is it rude not to offer help that was needed a long time ago, or is it just polite? I thought about this and a million other dumb things to distract from the painful whip of rain. By the time I was entering my apartment building it had calmed to a steady pour.

My clothes stuck to my skin and I could’ve cried when my apartment came into view. My excitement to be dry almost made me miss the small figure huddled by my door. Enjolras sat there, staring at the rain through the small window at the end of the hall. He hadn’t noticed me yet. He was wearing the same clothes he had on yesterday. It occurred to me that so was I. What a mess we made together, the only two souls in the dimly lit hallway. Clothes wrinkled with wear and faces wrinkled with weariness. I approached him, my shoes squeaking with every step.

He pulled his hair out of his face as he looked up. Blue eyes dull as the sky outside.

“You look like shit,” he said.

I smiled, though it was weak and disheartened. “You too.”

“I...um...you left your phone,” he said, holding it up.

“Fuck,” I sighed, relieved. “Thought I had lost it.”

I noted the bags under his eyes. “Were you here all night?”

He blushed in embarrassment. “You never came home."

His gaze shifted away to the stained hallway carpet, “Did you sleep over at someone’s?”

It was an odd thing for him to ask. I rationalized it by assuming he was just looking for another opportunity to judge me.

“No, slept on a park bench,” I said bluntly, gesturing to my wet clothes.

“Are you serious?” he deadpanned.

“I can’t resist sleeping under the stars, hopeless romantic that I am,”

He grinned at that but hid it with a scoff. “That was a stupid thing to do R. The forecast said it would rain.”

“Oh my bad. Next time I pass out drunk I’ll remember to check the weather first.”

He opened his mouth to retort but only a sigh came out. I guess it had been a long night for us both.

I grabbed my phone from him. “Was that all you came here for?”

“Yeah,” he muttered, standing up.

I reached underneath the door for the key I kept taped there. It had saved me more times than I’m willing to admit. “Awful lot of determination just to give me my phone.".

“You know me,” he said, leaning tiredly against the wall, “I’m nothing if not full of misplaced determination.”

I laughed softly. The hallway was quiet now. It had stopped raining.

“Um...you want to come inside? I could make you coffee or something,” I asked, running a hand through wet curls.

To my surprise, he said yes.

“Your place is nicer than I thought it’d be,” he said as he walked in behind me.

I was once again astonished by his brazen honesty. “What were you expecting?”

“Well,” he said looking around, “I was starting to suspect you didn’t even own a bed.”

I let out an exasperated laugh and searched through the cabinets. They had gone back into disarray since I last organized them. It would take another blue moon before I did that shit again.

“If it wasn’t for my roommate I probably wouldn’t,” I replied, pulling out a cheap, metal tin of coffee grounds.

Enjolras finally stopped sizing up my apartment and took a seat on the couch. He was always the judgmental type but I didn’t remember him being so aggressive about it. From the time he could talk he had the ability to tear someone’s self-esteem down like a middle school mean girl, but he chose his battles back then. I couldn’t imagine he saw anything in me worth fighting for, but I also couldn’t imagine him being so rude to anyone else. Maybe it really was just me. I always had a knack for bringing out the worst in people.

“I’m glad someone is taking care of you considering your inability to do it yourself.”

I didn’t have enough energy for an argument. Enjolras didn’t look like he did either but I guess he couldn’t help himself. I handed him his cup of coffee and cradled mine as I sat down across from him.

He made an irritated noise at my lack of response. Then deflated as if the action used up the last of his resistance.

“I actually came here to apologize,” he whispered, suddenly interested in the floor.

My blood boiled. “Did Jehan make you come here?”

His head shot up with wide eyes. “No! Of course not! No one is making me. I just...you left...and we talked and,” he took a deep breath, “You told them?”

The question came out weaker than the rest of the sentence. He sounded like a boy.

“No. They found out,” I muttered.

A long processing silence followed. My head was throbbing and Enjolras could barely keep his up, but neither of us touched our coffees.

“Why did you -”

“Don’t do that,” I snapped, stopping him. “Don’t ask me questions you already know the answers to.”

He shot me a hard look, but its effect was lessened by his dark circles. Like embers flickering underneath a pile of ash. “What I know is that you’re an alcoholic Grantaire. What I don’t know is how or when.”

Hearing that word put me in a momentary shock. Some things in this world are known but not acknowledged. Like how consumerism is powered by human slave labor or that your pets are inevitably going to die one day. My drinking problem was one of those things. Enjoyable as long as I was in denial. Enjolras had been pulling rugs from underneath me since that cursed day in the Corinthe. And I hated him for it.

“I don’t know,” I hissed through my teeth.

“That’s bullshit R!” he yelled. “Talk to me.”

The anger flickered from his eyes and left behind something pleading and small. My grip tightened around the mug. Whatever the tiny thing in his eyes was, it was small enough to crush.

“Why would I talk to  _ you _ ?” I spat out. “What do you think changed between yesterday and today that I’d let you put my life under a microscope?”

He opened his mouth but I didn’t let him get a word in.

“You think we’re close just because you knew me 13 years ago? We were friends when we were kids. Do you really think that means anything? You know nothing about me Enjolras. Grow up.”

His face twisted in fury and he stood up. “I shouldn’t have come here. I should have known you’d be...in this state.”

“What? Hungover?” I said, not letting up the pressure. “Don’t start beating around the bush now Apollo.”

“I’m leaving,” he barked, heading towards the door.

“Why are you leaving?” I asked to his retreating back. “Is it because there’s not enough space on our humble couch for you and your entitlement.”

I stood up and dramatically fluffed the cushion. “Look now there’s a seat for your ego too.”

“Fuck you Grantaire,” he bit out as he slammed the door behind him.

I stood for a minute with my fists curled adjusting to the sudden silence. I fell back onto the seat and pushed my coffee away. I felt nauseous and it wasn’t the alcohol.

* * *

I couldn’t take sitting in the apartment any longer. The untouched coffee and dislodged couch pillows kept reminding me of the scene that had just played out. So after I changed into a set of dry clothes, I went to see Eponine.

We were sitting cross-legged on Montparnasse’s pristine white carpet rolling a joint. The man himself was off doing his usual shady business, so we had the deluxe apartment to ourselves.

“So what you're telling me is that this Enjolras guy, who you met when you were seven, is trying to get you to go sober?” she asked as she lit the joint.

“Basically,” I answered, grabbing it from her. “He has yet to say it but it’s what he keeps implying.”

“He sounds like an asshole.”

“He’s not,” I said defensively. “Well sort of but so am I.”

She slowly let out a stream of smoke. “Why don’t you just stop talking to him?”

“It’s not that simple,” I pouted, fiddling with the joint between my fingers.

“Because you like him.”

I choked on the smoke and doubled over coughing. “I don’t like him,” I wheezed.

“Bullshit!” she laughed. “You used to only talk about politics when you were trying to start a fight. Now pretty boy shows up and you join an activist group. Besides, from what you’ve told me, you liked him when you were kids too.”

“I did not...that’s...you’re being…,” I stuttered out.

Eponine started laughing uncontrollably. I hid my face in my hoodie sleeves to resist the urge to laugh myself.

“This isn’t funny Ep. And I didn’t come here for you to psychoanalyze me.”

She calmed herself down and took another drag. “Then why are you here smoking up all my weed?"

I shrugged. “Because I was bored. And because Montparnasse always buys those expensive chocolate cookies.”

“Good call,” she said standing up, “I fucking love those things.”

I watched her rummage through the fridge as I babysat the joint.

“Don’t worry R,” she said, sitting back down with an armful of snacks. “If Golden Boy thinks he’s better than you, then he can fuck off.”

I sighed and watched the last of the embers burn away against the ashtray. “That’s the problem Eponine. He is better than me.”

She frowned but didn’t say anything. Just pushed Montparnasse’s cookies into my hand and reached for another rolling paper.

* * *

Thursday came but there was no way in hell I’d be going to the Musain. I hadn’t heard anything from Enjolras since he stormed out of my apartment. As for everyone else, I was bombarded with messages from the whole group the day I left. I had twenty missed calls from Jehan alone. I hadn’t responded to any of them. Even if nothing was brought up during the meeting, I’d be bombarded afterward. I wouldn’t be surprised if Enjolras didn’t even let me in. I had wanted to piss him off and it seems that’s exactly what I did. So, I picked up an extra shift at the bar on Thursday evening. Keeping my mind distracted and my brain pleasantly buzzed.

It was bright outside by the time I headed back to my apartment. The morning was fresh with the smell of last night’s rain. It had been pouring everyday since the start of April and it didn’t seem likely to stop anytime soon. I guess it was a symptom of the season. What was that saying again? “April showers bring May flowers.” I scoffed as I looked down at the dirty pavement. That would be true if anything could grow through all this concrete.

I yawned as I put the key in the door. Feuilly would have left for work by now, but he also would have left the coffee pot on for me. I didn’t deserve him. I continued thinking about the naturally caring nature of my roommate as I took off my jacket and shoes and turned towards the kitchen.

I screamed at the sight of Jehan sitting calmly at my kitchen table.

“Jesus Christ! How the hell did you get in here?” I yelled, trying to slow down my heartbeat.

“Your roommate, Feuilly, let me in. He’s really smart by the way. I invited him to the next meeting," they said, unphased by my panic.

I facepalmed and mentally took back all the nice things I just thought about him. That traitor.

“Don’t be mad at him,” said Jehan, mind reader that they are. “He was worried about you. I am too. You didn’t come to the meeting.”

“Yeah I bet I was missed,” I huffed sarcastically.

Jehan leveled me with a serious look. “You were. Everyone has grown fond of you R, and even Enjolras was off his game.”

“Don’t fuck with me Jehan.”

“I’m not.”

I pulled out a chair and sat down so I could be eye level with them. “Did he tell you what happened?”

“I know he came over here but I don’t know what you talked about. I’m guessing it didn’t end well considering how you’re both acting.”

“That’s an understatement,” I grumbled.

Jehan grabbed my hands quicker than I could pull them away. “This is eating him alive R. Talk to him. Come back to the meetings. I don’t know what you're dealing with, but pushing us away isn’t the answer,” they whispered, squeezing my hands.

I yanked my hands from their grasp. “I didn’t want to grow up to be an alcoholic failure but I also didn’t want you to come back in my life and judge me for it.”

“I’m not judging you,” they said, voice exasperated.

I stood up furiously. “You know what Jehan. Maybe I’m a mess, but I’m handling it! I’m living with it!”

“This isn't living R.”

The cutting tone of their voice summoned something within me. Something dark and aggressive. That only knew how to defend itself with punches.

“You might be daydreaming about the three of us being best friends again, but I'm not going to entertain your fantasies. Unfettered hope looks pretty on paper but right now you’re making a fool of yourself," I sneered.

Their face steeled but then relaxed. They stood up. “If you think you can get rid of us by acting like a jerk then you don’t know me and you certainly don’t know Enjolras.”

I didn’t say anything else as they walked to the door.

“I’ll be telling Feuilly to make sure you come to the next meeting,” they said over their shoulder.

I didn’t turn around to see them leave but I heard the click of the door and at once knew I was alone.

* * *

The rest of the week was unbearable. At least that’s what I would have described it as if I could remember most of it. After my confrontation with Jehan, I made it my personal mission not to give myself time to think. Or even allow for the ability to think if I could help it. I was hoping that I’d go to sleep on Wednesday night and somehow wake up on Friday morning. I’d done it before. Lost entire days to my vices. This time I wasn’t so lucky, and I woke up Thursday morning with a sense of dread.

I told myself that I was being irrational. The only thing that made Thursdays important were ABC meetings. If I wasn’t doing those anymore than it was just another Thursday. Still I spent my day anxious and aloof, until I gave up and decided to visit Eponine for a distraction.

I knocked impatiently on her door, switching my weight from foot to foot. Soon the handle rattled and my snarky greeting died on my lips when Montparnasse’s face appeared. I reminded myself that his being here wasn’t weird considering that it’s his apartment.

“Oh hey Montparnasse. Is Eponine here?”

He gave my ratty outfit a look. I felt self-conscious next to the casual suit he was wearing just to chill inside his home.

“No, she’s watching her brother today,” he said, leaning against the doorframe.

I scratched my head awkwardly. “Oh...well sorry for bothering you then...I’ll just um...”

He laughed. The sound of it was plastic. “Come in. We’re friends too right?”

I didn’t know what to answer to that so I just nodded my head and walked inside.

I was greeted with the sight of a second man sitting down. He was also dressed formally but seemed uncomfortable in his clothing compared to Montparnasse who wore his like a second skin. He was a large man, maybe even bigger than Bahorel. The sleeves of his dress shirt were rolled up and his dress shoes were creased and dusty.

“R this is Gueulemer. Gueulemer this is my girlfriend’s puppy.”

It was easy to forget sometimes what a dick Montparnasse could be. He was like one of those cobras they kept in baskets. Eponine was a snake charmer. She could fool a crowd into thinking he’s harmless, but when she’s not around he always strikes to kill.

Montparnasse had the bad combination of a frail ego and an explosive temper. So, I decided to let the comment pass without returning the insult. Gueulemer found the whole thing hilarious and laughed boisterously.

This gave Montparnasse the confidence to continue his patronizing. “He’s good company though. Doesn’t shed all over the furniture, just drinks all my expensive alcohol.”

“Well then don’t be shy,” said Gueulemer, patting a seat at the table. “You can offer Montparnasse here a second opinion on my fine spirits.”

He had a thick southern accent, it was rough and charming. The kind that could lull you into a false sense of security. It reminded me of the cowboy films I liked as a boy, and the thought made me smile.

“Second opinion?” I asked, taking a seat.

Montparnasse sat down across from me. “Gueulemer here specializes in illicit alcohol. Your boss is looking to expand his horizons and wanted me to assist in the purchasing.”

I should have known this had something to do with Thenadier. If something shady was happening in a room in this city, you could bet Thenadier had his foot in the door.

“Since the bar already feels country with all the old wood and washed paint -”

I wanted to point out that the bar wasn’t meant to look rustic Thenadier just refused to pay for renovations.

“- I thought I’d stay on theme and get something you won’t find in the city,” he continued.

Gueulemer took his cue and lifted a large mason jar full of clear liquid onto the table.

“Is that -”

Before I could finish Gueulemer patted the top of the lid proudly and said, “Yup. Moonshine. None of that Ole Smoky bullshit either, this baby here is 150 proof. Though we also sell 130 proof for the lightweights.”

My eyes bulged. I was sitting next to a bottle of 75% alcohol. I felt an odd respect for Gueulemer blooming within me.

“You actually came at the perfect time,” said Montparnasse, voice taking on a sleazy quality. “See Gueulemer has brought me different flavors to try but I can’t afford to get drunk right now.”

I knew Montparnasse would be on the floor after a single shot of this stuff. However, I didn’t appreciate being treated like a dog who does tricks for bowls of liquor. I was going to say as much when Gueulemer interrupted me.

“As a show of good faith, you can keep whichever one you like best.”

It was hard for me to say no to free booze in general, but with an ABV like this I’d save a fortune on getting wasted this month.

I screwed off the lid of the jar and took a whiff. The smell alone was strong enough to calm the shaky feeling that had been gathering in me since I woke up. “Someone get me a shot glass.”

I took small shots from the various mason jars while Gueulemer rambled on about production and pricing. I did a shitty impression of a wine connoisseur as I tried each. Truthfully, they all tasted like someone put a flavor packet into rubbing alcohol. I didn’t hate it though. Each drop burned its way down and turned my empty stomach into an oven. The heat was welcome after the chill of rain on my clothing, and my brain was getting fuzzier faster than usual.

Years of heavy drinking as well as bartending had taught me quite a lot about what makes a good drink. I gave the rundown on which ones I thought would succeed in the bar, fighting against the slowing of my speech. Turns out, a good amount of Thenadier’s plan was to use this stronger stuff in drinks so that we could get away with using less. He really knew how to scrape the bottom line. I was relieved when Montparnasse finished the ordering and Gueulemer stopped asking me questions. It meant I could let the growing lethargy take over without resistance.

I told Gueulemer I’d like a bottle of plain 150 proof for my troubles and he obliged. I didn’t realize how drunk I was until I stood up and the room did a backflip.

“You good there bud?” asked Gueulemer, putting the moonshine into a bag.

I wasn’t. Oh I wasn’t, but mistakes had already been made and I needed to get home. “Yeah I’m fine,” I slurred.

I managed to get myself out the door. I leaned against the wall to gather myself for a moment, and I could still hear the sounds of Montparnasse and Gueulemer talking inside.

“You sure your friend's gonna be alright?” questioned Gueulemer in his molasses drawl.

“He’s a drunk. He could find a bar blindfolded. Trust me, it’s a normal Thursday night for him,” replied Montparnasse haughtily.

He was wrong. It had been awhile since I got drunk on a Thursday evening. I felt my eyes burn at the thought. I uncapped the jar and took a sip. It felt nice. It wasn’t as warm as his smiles or laugh or voice, but it would do.

Luckily Montparnasse’s building had an elevator so I didn’t have to worry about falling down a flight of stairs. Montparnasse was right not to worry though. I’d left there hammered so many times now that I could find my way home even if I had to crawl back.

There was something artistic about the world while intoxicated. The way the street lights blurred and bled into one another. How the people doubled as they walked by and the street signs twisted like they were melting. The night looked darker and hyper-focused in all the wrong places. It made my fingers itch to create an abstract painting.

I dragged my way up to my apartment and the door was already open.

“Dude where were you? I’ve been trying to call you. Jehan wants me to make sure you go to the meeting,” Feuilly said as I stumbled in.

He watched as I slammed the moonshine onto the counter leaning all my weight against it. “Are you okay?”

I made a non-committal noise and started to search the dishes for a shot glass.

“Are you drunk?” asked Feuilly, voice becoming tight.

“Very,” I said, giving up on the shot glass and deciding to drink straight from the jar.

“What the hell is that?” Feuilly cried, as I uncapped the jar and took a healthy gulp.

“Moonshine,” I answered nonchalantly.

He grabbed the jar from where I was still holding it, causing some to splash out on the counter.

“Hey, that was a gift!”

He took a sniff and coughed at the smell. “Holy fuck Grantaire how did you drink this?”

I shrugged and tried to grab it back. Feuilly lifted the jar over his head, the bastard, where I couldn’t reach it.

“You promised you’d stop doing that, you Polish giant!”

He capped the jar and set it on top of the fridge. “Look, I don’t even have time to address this. I’ll tell Jehan you can’t come because you’re sick.”

“Why lie,” I slurred, falling onto the couch. “Tell him R is fucked up again just like always.”

Feuilly ran his hands over his face. “Look, just promise me you’ll stay here and sleep that poison off. I’ll bring back some aspirin.”

“Fine,” I mumbled, pushing my face into the cushion.

My head was swimming and I barely registered the sound of footsteps and a door closing.

I felt a vibrating sensation and felt blindly around for my phone. I peeked open my eye to see that I had one missed call from Jehan and three messages.

Jehan: feuilly called to say you were sick

Jehan: i know that’s a lie R

Jehan: pls come :(

I scoffed at their audacity. Here they were thinking they were being a good person by coercing me out. I wondered what they’d say if I texted back that they were right and I wasn’t sick, I was piss drunk. Where would all their niceties and poetry be when I was right in front of them at my worst. In fact, I didn’t want to text them. I wanted to go down there and tell them. See the look on their face. I was so tired of all of them insisting they know who I am. I’d show them exactly who I was. Let them see what kind of person they're all wasting their time and energy on.

I was sober enough to realize what a bad idea this was. But that could be easily remedied. Feuilly must have forgotten chairs were a thing and I quickly got my moonshine down with the help of one. I decided to keep drinking until the idea of going to the Musain and making a scene seemed like a good one. It didn’t take much.

It was raining outside again but I was incapable of working an umbrella. So I struggled into a rain jacket and clamored my way down the stairs. Thankfully, the Musain was close to my apartment. My inhibitions were long gone so I didn’t have a microsecond of hesitation before I swung open the heavy, glass door. 

There was no doubt in my mind that I looked drunk. Musichetta noticed instantly by the way she moved from behind the counter to block my path. 

“R, are you okay? Maybe you should come with me," she said, grabbing at my arm as I tried to move past her. 

I was laser focused on the backroom door and everything she was saying sounded distorted. I roughly tore my arm away and marched onward.

The door slammed open harder than I intended it to. The wood almost splintering against the wall. Everyone inside jumped and I’m pretty sure Marius screamed. 

“Grantaire?” Jehan yelped as they stood up in shock.

“Yep it’s me,” I said, tripping over my feet as I walked in. “You told me to come so I came.”

Jehan’s face was pale. “Oh my god are you -”

“Drunk? ‘Fraid so Prouvaire.” 

I saw a ginger blur coming towards me that must have been Feuilly. “R come here. I’m going to take you home,” he said, voice calm as if he was dealing with a wild animal.

I tried to back away from him and fell down, crashing into one of the chairs. 

“R!” I heard someone yell but I couldn’t discern who anymore. 

I knew it was Bousset and Joly helping me up though as I tried to regain my grasp on reality. 

“R you look like you’re dying. Did you drink more of that moonshine?” asked the ginger blob, which got bigger as it kneeled towards me. 

“Moonshine? R, where did you get it? Who gave it to you?” squeaked Joly, grabbing my face and disorientating me more. 

I could feel his panic coming off in waves as Bahorel pulled me to my feet.

“Guys he could have alcohol poisoning. Or even methanol poisoning. R can you see how many fingers I’m holding up?” said Joly, shoving his hands into my face. 

The sheer amount of people crowding around me began to overwhelm me. “Get off of me!” I yelled, pushing Joly away.

Joly had a bum leg and he clattered to the ground when I shoved him. I heard a few more shouts of horror as I stumbled and caught myself on a table. 

“Grantaire I’m going to demand that you calm down or get out,” growled a voice near me. 

I turned to see Enjolras fading in and out of focus. A vision of crimson and gold. I could make out the harsh lines of his face if I squinted. 

Another pair of warm hands grabbed me. “Enjolras stop!” I heard Combeferre chastise. “R,” he said, turning me to face him, “Let us take you to the hospital. Just to make sure you’re alright.”

“I’m fine,” I said, weakly fighting him off. “I’m leaving.”

I tried to slip out the door but two small pairs of hands caught my arms in a vice grip. Before I knew it I was pushed into a chair. 

“You need to sit down R, okay?" I heard Cosette’s honey voice say. 

“I’ll get him some water,” Musichetta said, running back into the front of the cafe. 

“Guys I’m freaking out. Let me call an ambulance," I heard Joly beg from somewhere behind me.

“Breathe Joly, he’ll be fine,” a mellow voice said as it approached me. I saw a small frame appear in front of me. “You know your limit R. Do you think you drank too much?”

My head lulled back in the chair. “No Marius. I said I’m fine.”

“This is Courfeyrac,” said the voice. “Okay, now I’m scared.”

“Here R, drink this,” Cosette whispered, holding a glass to my lips. 

None of this was going how I planned. All the attentiveness they showed only infuriated me further. I grabbed the glass from in front of my face and threw it as hard as I could manage. A distant shattering came from the other side of the room. Cosette gasped and drew back.

I felt another glass being pushed harshly into my hands and Musichetta’s voice followed. “You’re going to drink this fucking water R or I’m going to pour it down your fucking throat.”

Even drunk I knew an honest threat when I heard one, so I gulped the cool water down. Musichetta had every right to be mad. I could only imagine the commotion I was causing.

Joly was still nervously rambling on near me. “He needs to lay down, but someone has to watch him. If that moonshine had methanol in it he could have a seizure or go blind.”

“I’ll watch him,” called out a strained voice. It took a while before I realized it was Enjolras’.

I zoned out as the voices and lights continued to flicker, and jumped at the feel of someone pulling me up. I could tell by the warmth of his hands alone that it was Enjolras. His touch felt like fire against my skin and it hurt. Looking at him was like staring into an eclipse and it hurt. Being around him hurt and so did being away from him. He grabbed my hands and began leading me outside and if I could form words I would have told Joly that I’d changed my mind. That I needed an ambulance. That I didn’t know what I was doing anymore, and it feels like I’m dying all the time. I wanted to collapse onto the ground and wait for a defibrillator, because my heartbeat was loud in my ears but I hadn’t felt it in years.

My legs gave out under me and both Combeferre and Enjolras had to help me into his car.

Joly handed me a bottle of water through the window and begged me to drink it. I sipped on it just to get him to stop talking. There was too much noise. The cars, the pedestrians, Enjolras starting the engine. It all blended into the sound of rain falling down in sheets. I thought for a moment that my head might have split from all the pressure, but the cracking sound was coming from above us. I leaned my head against the window and watched the lightning shatter the sky into pieces.

“You missed my turn,” I mumbled against the glass.

“You’re staying at my place tonight,” Enjolras said, staring straight ahead at the road.

“What?” I rasped, whipping my head towards him and immediately regretting it as my vision spun.

“It’s the only way I can know you won’t drink more.”

His voice was drowned out by the sound of my stomach reeling. “Pull over."

“R no! This isn’t up for debate.”

“Pull over,” I said with labored breaths, sliding down in my seat and fumbling with my seatbelt.

“R I’m serious your - oh shit are you going to vomit?”

I nodded my head furiously. I was already reaching for the handle when the car pulled over and I nearly face planted onto the wet sidewalk trying to get out. I threw up right on the side of the road, the force of it bringing me to my knees. Rain pounding onto me. A hand settled onto my back, stroking the wet fabric.

“Grantaire you can’t keep doing this,” Enjolras whispered next to me.

I pushed him away and struggled to my feet. All the water running down my face was sobering me up.

“Enjolras stop! Why are you doing this? What do you want from me?” I was screaming to be heard over the storm.

His yellow curls turned dark in the rain and plastered over his face. “I want to help you Grantaire!” he yelled back.

“I didn’t ask for your help! I didn’t ask for you to show up and involve yourself in my life!”

Lightning flashed across his face. “You think this is fun for me? I was devastated when you left! I spent years wondering where you were! Only to find you like this!”

His fist were clenched and drops of rain fell from his fingertips. “And every night I stay up blaming myself.”

“How is this your fault?” I shouted, voice small against the crash of thunder.

“I should have been there! I should have tried harder to figure out where you were! I shouldn’t have forgotten about you! I should have...I should’ve..I...”

His voice cracked and petered out. I wasn’t sure how much of the water on his face was rain.

“Stop,” I said, turning away from him. “If I get back in the car will you just stop.”

He nodded slowly and helped me back into the passenger seat.

I felt a pang of guilt at the pools of water our clothes were creating in his car. Enjolras didn’t comment on it, just wiped his face and started the engine. We drove in silence the rest of the way. The only sound was the rain violently beating down on the car. Through the window, it looked as though the city was being washed away.

I noticed an umbrella in his backseat but it was pointless by now. So, we walked out uncovered towards Enjolras’ apartment building.

It was far nicer than mine in a cleaner looking neighborhood. The lobby attendant side-eyed us as we dripped onto the carpet. I heard Enjolras apologize as we shambled into the elevator. The halls themselves were even nice. Freshly painted doors with golden numbering.

I leaned heavily against the wall, my body tired and unsteady, as Enjolras opened his door. My thoughts were still swimming. Trying to surface themselves above all the liquor. I shut my eyes against the harsh light of his apartment, and attempted to feel my way towards a soft surface.

“Here,” Enjolras said, leading me towards a bed. “I’ll sleep on the couch.”

The thunderstorm hadn’t ceased and it gave the illusion of the building shaking apart.

“Fuck, I think I’m gonna vomit again,” I said, holding on to the edge of his desk.

“Not on my desk. There’s a trash can in the corner.”

I peeled myself off the desk and walked to the corner of the room. I yelped as I tripped over a box of papers sitting in the middle of the floor.

“Sorry, I forgot that was there,” Enjolras said, coming over to help me up.

I turned over and looked into the box. My whole body went cold. “Is this what I think it is?”

“Yeah,” he sighed, picking up the box and placing it on the bed. “It’s all the drawings you did when we were little. I kept them all.”

My chest was heaving and I couldn’t settle on a reaction.

“I’ve been looking at them a lot lately,” he said, picking one up. It was a poorly drawn portrait of Enjolras. Hair framing his face as he read.

“Why?”

His blue eyes burned holes through mine. “You’re lost Grantaire. I’ve been trying to find you.”

“I’m not in there.”

“I don’t believe that,” he whispered, holding the drawing closer to himself.

I was shaking now. Shaking apart like the building and the trees and the sky. My emotions a strong wind threatening to knock me down.

I strained my throat to force the words out. “I’m nowhere Enjolras.”

Enjolras’ apartment was fitted with old fashioned casement windows, and we both startled at the sound of the hinge snapping as the window flew open.

“Fuck!” Enjolras yelled as he ran to the window to close it before more rain poured in.

I stood and walked towards the drawings. They were vibrant and messy. The hand that made them lacked skill but overflowed with enthusiasm. Every space was filled with knights, cowboys, dragons, and pretty boys with blond hair. My hands trembled as I ran my fingers across the old pages. Still crisp and unstained from years of being kept care of.

All at once a dam inside of me broke. I grasped the pages tightly, crushing them between my hands, and ripped them apart.

Enjolras turned around from where he was still trying to close the window and gasped. “R what are you doing?”

He wrestled the box away from me as I grabbed more of the papers. “R give those to me," Enjolras demanded. His voice was careful, as if I was holding a person hostage and not shitty drawings of cartoon characters.

I shook my head violently and inched towards the window.

“R no!” Enjolras shouted, reaching out for the pages.

Before he could grab them I threw them out the window. They fluttered out but their graceful flight was ruined by the powerful downpour that plummeted them to the ground. I could hear Enjolras scream as I watched them splat onto the pavement. Maybe it was wishful thinking but I thought I could make one of them out. A pencil colored doodle of the two of us being swept into the floodwaters.

I didn’t even process it when Enjolras grabbed me and began to shake me. I tried to focus on what he was saying. I think he was asking me why. But I didn’t know why. I didn’t know why I turned out like this, and I didn’t know how to fix it.

“Grantaire, you’re crying," said Enjolras’ soft voice, cutting through the static.

“I am?” I mumbled. I touched my face to find rivers pouring from my eyes. A horrible noise wracked through my body and I crumbled onto the floor. The tears fell and fell and fell.

Enjolras wrapped his arms around me and I let myself collapse onto him. “I’m so scared,” I sobbed.

“It’s okay,” he soothed, squeezing me tighter. “We’re gonna be okay.”

Maybe it was the drowsiness taking over my mind, or the calming silence as the rain finally stopped falling. But for the first time in a long time, I believed him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> University is starting back so the next update won't be for awhile, but that gives you lots of time to process what you just read cause I'm still winded from writing all that angst.


	4. Bargaining

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I know the desperate bargains you want to make with the universe and every last prayer you prayed to gods you don't even believe in."
> 
> \- Jeanette Leblanc

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here it is! I struggled a bit with this chapter (I'm sure it shows), but I hope it was worth the wait.

That night was longer than usual. Enjolras kept his word and left me the bed while he slept on the couch. I wanted to argue but it would have felt silly after everything that had happened. I spent the entire time feeling uncomfortable but incapable of getting my body to move. Eventually, my consciousness slipped. Not with the sweet lull that comes with wanting to sleep, but the panicked pull of darkness that comes with being unable to stay awake.

I was grateful for the morning, even though I woke with one of the worse hangovers I've ever had. There were only two options when a hangover got this bad. Try a hundred different hangover cures until something kicks in or keep drinking. The latter was the superior option but Enjolras would strangle me if I even suggested it. Oddly enough I wasn’t keen on looking at another bottle of alcohol any time soon.

I heard a rattling sound outside the door and knew that Enjolras must be awake. The sheer idea of going out there and facing him was terrifying. My hangover was strong but it had nothing on the embarrassment I felt about what happened last night. I have had exactly two witnessed breakdowns in my young adult life. The last time I ever talked to my mother, and now last night on Enjolras’ bedroom floor.

I noticed a bottle of water and aspirin on the side table. I knocked some back and waited for it to kick in. I busied myself with looking around Enjolras’ bedroom. Last night had been too dark and chaotic for me to take in any details, so it was as if I was seeing it all for the first time. The room was simplistic yet messy. As if Enjolras had tried to do minimalism but forgotten he was a human disaster. There weren't any knickknacks, posters, or other obvious clutter, but the floor was littered with books. Shoes and coats were thrown around haphazardly and a tiny recycling bin sat in the room overflowing with paper. Old mugs of coffee sat on his desks and illegible sticky notes were stuck around in random places.

The doorknob turned and I wondered for a second if I should pretend to be asleep. I decided not to since Enjolras must have better things to do with his day than babysit sleeping drunks. I sat up and groaned at the flare of pain. Enjolras was already dressed, hair brushed and tied back neatly. He was holding a cup of what I assumed was coffee. That assumption died the minute I caught a whiff of it.

“Ugh, what the hell is that?”

“Courfeyrac’s original hangover cure, patent-pending,” he said, setting it down on the side table.

“If he makes you guys drink this every time you have a hangover then no wonder you’re all so sober.”

“Maybe it’ll rub off on you,” he countered, voice lighthearted but eyes serious. I knew he wanted to talk about last night. He was trying to exercise tact for once, but his shoulders were too tight and his hands fidgeting.

I was determined not to fall into his trap and chose not to respond to the comment. Enjolras, however, stood there staring at me like an owl. I rolled my eyes harder than necessary and took a gulp of the smoothie, gagging at the taste. Enjolras seemed satisfied enough with that and turned to leave.

“I figured you might be hungry, so I made some breakfast,” he said, lingering at the door.

“You can cook?” I asked, not remembering that being one of his particular skill-sets.

“No,” he chirped, “so keep that in mind when you’re eating it.”

I laughed despite myself. I was always doing that around Enjolras. Laughing “despite myself.” Most laughter relied on you being susceptible to it. But Enjolras could reach into my chest and pull the laughter out from where I hadn’t even known it was. It baffled me, but it also made me feel ashamed.

Whatever was inside of Courfeyrac’s homemade poison was actually working, so I hammered the rest of it down. When sitting up no longer felt brutal I tried standing up. And when that went well I walked out of the bedroom.

I watched Enjolras pour coffee and clatter around the kitchen. I felt outside of myself. As if I was an observer watching this domestic scene. I felt resistance against allowing myself to fully participate in the moment. I didn’t deserve a single second of it.

Enjolras’ pancakes smelt like they were burning. And when he handed me the charcoal disk I knew they had. But he had meticulously picked out the nicest ones for me, so I drowned them in syrup and ate them with a forced smile.

Enjolras sat down next to me, pleased with himself.

I wondered when he would finally see it fit to kick me out, but he just sat there reading the news and occasionally glancing up at me. I didn’t know much about Enjolras’ schedule. I knew he did law school part-time, and the majority of his focus was on fighting bad people for good causes. When I put it like that, he sounded like a superhero. I suppose he kind of was, though that meant he was doing a shitty job. Always picking the wrong people to save.

“Don’t you have class or work or something?” I prodded, hoping to move things along.

“Not until this afternoon,” he shrugged.

Enjolras was still glancing up at me every ten seconds and he hadn’t turned the newspaper since he picked it up. The air was thick with words unsaid, and neither of us knew how to say them. One of us would have to try before we both suffocated.

“I’m sorry,” I mumbled through a mouthful of pancake.

Enjolras stopped pretending to read and gave me his full attention. “For what?”

I swallowed hard and set down my fork. “For last night. For the Musain. For what I said in my apartment. For making me your problem.”

“You’re not a problem Grantaire,” he said. “You’re a person. I'm not trying to solve you R, I just want to understand you."

“Good luck,” I scoffed. “If you figure me out, then maybe you can explain me to myself.”

“Well, I’m no good at figuring out people. That’s Jehan’s area of expertise or Combeferre’s.”

“Combeferre is a psychologist. He’ll diagnose me with three different things without meaning to by the end of the conversation. Jehan, on the other hand, would tell me that I need to find myself, and then I’d have to murder them,” I grumbled.

“Yeah, that sounds like them,” he said with a fond smile. “But they’d both be right, they always are when it comes to these things.”

“Maybe,” I mumbled, sliding my food around my plate, “but I don’t want right, I want easy.”

“Well I have a suggestion but you won’t like it.” His tone shifted and with it so did the entire atmosphere of the one-bedroom apartment.

“Just say it,” I groaned. I was impressed with how many ways Enjolras could imply that he wanted me to stop drinking without actually saying it, but I was tired of it too.

“You need to stop drinking,” he said predictably. I liked his choice of words though. He didn’t say that I _should_ stop drinking but that I _need to_. It was a demand rather than a suggestion, and normally that would be enough to send me off the deep end. But I appreciated the honesty of it. It implied that even if I stormed out of here right now, this wouldn’t be the last time we had this conversation. I guess Enjolras did know me better than I thought. He knew well enough to know that if given the choice, I’ll always choose wrong.

“You’re right.”

His mouth was already open to argue and he shut it awkwardly after registering what I had said. I knew he thought I’d refuse and it made me proud that I could still surprise him. We were both a bit too predictable these days.

“Oh,” he said, regathering his thoughts. “Well then, what are our next steps?”

“Our?”

“I probably want this for you more than you want this for yourself.”

I nodded in agreement. I had no doubt about that. What I couldn’t wrap my head around was why he wanted it so much. Maybe it was his divine sense of duty kicking in.

“I want to help. I’m not saying you can’t do this on your own, I’m sure you could. But I need this. Please let me help R,” he begged.

“Okay."

His eyebrows shot up. “Wait, really? Just like that? I don’t have to subtly force my way into your recovery? You’re going to let me help without resistance?”

“Yep,” I sighed. I was certain I had truly fucked over future Grantaire, but Enjolras smiled and it was worth it.

“Okay,” he breathed out as if needing to calm himself down from a sudden burst of excitement. “Um...next steps.”

“Please tell me you didn't make your own twelve-step program?"

He looked a bit guilty and for a moment I thought he might actually have.

“No, I’m not that crazy. But I have been giving this a lot of thought,” he admitted.

I didn’t share Enjolras’ eagerness. The idea of quitting was overwhelming. Ironically, it made me want a drink.

“Can we come back to this?” I asked, stopping Enjolras’ oncoming tirade. “I...I need time to process everything.”

He deflated a bit. “Yeah, that makes sense. Do you want to continue with this later on today or tomorrow?”

“I’ll let you know,” I answered lamely.

He nodded silently and stared back down at his abandoned newspaper. The conversation died and the scrape of silverware sounded unbearably loud in the silence that followed.

It was strange to think that I spent the better part of my childhood talking for hours about nothing at all with Enjolras. Now every conversation between us was life and death. I missed talking about nothing with him, but I didn’t know how to anymore.

“I’m gonna go,” I muttered.

“Cool,” he said, avoiding eye contact. He was tapping his fingers against the table and I knew there was something more he wanted to say. I also knew he’d wait to say it until I was about to walk out the door.

I put my hand on the knob and his voice carried across the apartment. “When you’re at home you’re not going to..,” he trailed off.

“Drink?” I finished for him. “I might.”

He looked disappointed but didn’t say anything else.

“I’ll text you,” I said and walked out.

* * *

Feuilly wasn’t at the apartment and I was grateful for it. I knew I’d inevitably have to talk to everyone about what happened last night, but I could avoid it for as long as possible. 

I went to the fridge hoping for something to drink. I felt guilty enough that I decided I’d settle for water or juice. Except our fridge only had beer in it. Which would have to change if I was going to take this quitting thing seriously. 

I ran a hand through my hair and grabbed a beer. I could imagine Enjolras still sitting at his table, waiting for me to tell him to come and fix me. Prolonging this was a bad idea. I needed to commit before I had a chance to change my mind.

I let out a full-body sigh and sank into the couch. Maybe I’d stay on the couch forever, it was the safest option. I couldn't disappoint a couch. I couldn’t make it regret ever knowing me. I’d never catch the couch reminiscing over our shared memories and then have it accuse me of changing.

My phone interrupted my musings by vibrating loudly on the wooden coffee table. It was Joly again. He had been panic texting me all morning, and I hadn’t responded yet. I wasn’t ready to, though I knew that wasn’t fair to him. 

None of this was fair, but what was to blame? Enjolras would say that I was holding all the blame in my hands. And I was, but he would be talking about the beer bottle. The one that rested perfectly against my palm like an extension of myself. Cold and familiar. 

I thought back to this morning when I watched myself watching Enjolras. I recalled the odd sense of contempt I felt towards myself. Enjolras should be burning pancakes for a better man than me. Him giving me so much time and attention, it felt wrong. But I was selfish. I wanted his time and his attention. I wanted his mornings and his nights. I wanted all the things that used to feel like mine. Enjolras used to feel like mine. He wasn’t because people are never really yours, but they could give themselves to you. Enjolras gave himself fully to everything worthy of it and once upon a time I was. I wanted to be again.

I was repulsed by my own audacity. Everything was too different now. Everything was all wrong now. 

“I’m sick of you,” I sneered at the bottle in my hand, but my eyes were staring into the reflection on the glass. It looked back at me with watery eyes. 

And I knew it was wrong, but I drank it down anyway.

I laid there for hours. Lost somewhere between knowing what’s good for me and wishing I didn’t. At some point, I fell asleep. When I woke up the room was dark, except for the faint kitchen light. I didn’t see Feuilly in the kitchen but there were signs that he’d been there. Moved silverware and bottles. An unwashed cup in the sink. Sugar left out on the counter. The man himself must have already left for his night shift and I felt a pang of guilt at having missed him. We hadn’t really hung out since Enjolras triggered my latest life crisis. 

I didn’t work tonight and the free time felt daunting. I was worse than miserable, I was bored. I only knew a few ways to pass the time and one of them had texted me while I was sleeping. 

Eponine: since we’re both off let’s go out tonight. shots on me!!!

The night was only starting and I could easily text Eponine back and meet up with her, but my eyes traveled to the notification informing me that I had one other message. 

Enjolras: Hey I'm free this evening if you're ready to talk about things

My fingers hovered over the phone unsure of which message to click on. There was a metaphorical nature to the situation that would’ve made Jehan swoon, but I, on the other hand, did not appreciate it. My head was loud or maybe too quiet. My hands grew clammy and they slipped across the screen. I stared at the message I had accidentally opened.

I was suddenly grateful for my years of indecision because it took every bit of resolve I had saved to type out my reply. 

* * *

I slid the cup across the table from one hand to the other. Watching the brown liquid swirl around the glass. The low roar of conversation washed over me, my feet tapping in tune with the song playing over the speakers.

I had been inspecting the stains on the tablecloth when my head shot up at the sound of the door. This time it wasn’t a false alarm. The sight of blond curls turned orange in the streetlights had been unmistakable. He looked around and his eyes filled with recognition when he spotted me.

To a spectator, it must have just seemed like two friends meeting each other for dinner. It made me wonder what it would have been like if I’d contacted Enjolras online years ago and met up with him. What my life might have been like.

He slid into the booth. The weather was still cool outside and he wore a red sweater. Unlike my own apprehensive expression, his face was serious. Cold and familiar. 

The server came to the table to take our orders. I stuck with my coke, my stomach was already doing flips and we hadn’t even started talking yet. Enjolras ordered a coffee.

“You drink that stuff too much,” I complained.

“I thought we were here to talk about your addiction, not mine,” he laughed.

The tension fell from both of our shoulders. Enjolras straightened up and grabbed a notebook out of his bag.

“Straight to business then,” I sighed.

Enjolras smiled but it was quick and sad and afterward he said, “It’s important that we decide what resources you might need. Have you thought about AA or rehab?”

I shook my head. “No AA. Too religious. No rehab. Too expensive. And none of that tapering off bullshit.”

“You’re going cold turkey?” he asked, eyes wide.

“I know other people who have done it,” I said. “I’ll be fine.”

He didn’t look convinced, but it wasn’t his choice. “I’ve tried the other way before,” I confessed, “about a year after art school. It didn’t work.”

“I didn’t know you went to art school.”

I let out something between a laugh and a sigh. “I don’t exactly have a degree to hang up.”

“Oh.” Enjolras coughed to clear his throat and turned our attention back to the notebook.

“You’re going to need to limit your access to alcohol atleast in the beginning."

“I could probably get a week off of work.”

He looked up with squinted eyes, “Don’t you think being a bartender is going to become problematic to going sober?”

“Baby steps Enjolras."

“Fine,” he huffed. “You’re going to have to get rid of all the alcohol in your apartment though. Do you want to talk to Feuilly or do you want me to?”

I let my head fall onto the table. “I’ll do it.”

Enjolras nodded victoriously and checked off something in his notebook.

I turned my head sideways on the table to look at him. “It’d be a shame to pour it all down the sink though. Permission to throw a kegger?”

“Not funny R,” he replied, frowning.

I laughed anyway. “Sorry.”

“Okay, next question. Who do you want to know?”

I leaned my head against my hand and smirked. “You wouldn’t even know if I could help it.”

“Be serious Grantaire.”

I remembered this line. I knew he remembered it too. “I am wild,” I said, smirk giving out to a genuine smile.

“I can’t believe you actually said that,” he laughed, “You’re still ridiculous.”

That made me laugh too and we both fell into helpless giggling. Enjolras kicked me under the table. “No more jokes,” he huffed, catching his breath. “Support systems are important. Other than Feuilly, who else do you want to tell?”

I rolled my eyes at the phrase “support systems,” but answered anyway. “I’ll tell them eventually. Not now. Not before I’m even sure this is going to last more than a couple days.”

I could tell that I’d accidentally set off Enjolras’ concerned mode. He closed his notebook and looked me in the eyes. “I believe that you can do this R.”

“I don’t,” I mumbled, staring down at my Coke.

“Well,” he said, corners of his mouth pulling up the sun. “Can you believe in my stubborn determination to make you do this?”

I looked back into his blue eyes. “Yeah, that I can do.”

His voice took on a secretive tone and he leaned forward on his elbows. The act involuntarily made me scoot closer to hear him. We must’ve looked like gossiping schoolboys and I would have found the whole thing hilarious if not for his next question.

“When you tried to quit the first time, why didn’t it work?”

I sat back in my seat. Why didn’t it work? It had been an impulsive decision to try to quit and an impulsive decision to give up. The reason was obvious when I thought about it. “I guess I didn’t want alcoholism to ruin my life again, but there wasn’t much left to ruin anymore.”

“Huh,” he said, and I had no idea what that meant. He put the notebook back into his bag and finally picked up his mug of coffee. He frowned at the taste and reached for the sugar.

“What about now?” he asked, his expression was nonchalant but his tone betrayed him. “Is there something worth going sober for?”

I watched him ripping open sugar packets with his long fingers, a small mountain forming on the table next to his cup.

“Maybe,” I whispered.

* * *

Deep breaths. One deep breath when I took the bottle down. Another when I unscrewed it. The last one as I watched it pour down the drain. In and out. It was more alcohol than Feuilly knew what to do with. The nicer stuff I’ve collected over time was given away as gifts, but it was far outweighed by the cheap stuff I kept in bulk. Food banks aren’t exactly desperate for bottles of tequila, so there was nothing else to do with it.

It was satisfying really. I felt heavy these days. Full. Like a towel thrown in a river. I wanted someone to squeeze me out and sit me in the sun to dry. With each bottle, I told myself that it was like pouring out a part of me. All the parts of myself that had been weighing me down. Not that I’d ever admit to that. I’d come up with something disingenuous and sarcastic to say when Enjolras asked me about it later.

Feuilly had been shocked when I told him, but he didn’t make a big deal out of it. He casually mentioned that we shouldn’t keep any liquor in the apartment before I did, and I could’ve hugged him. I was so happy that I didn’t have to say it. Every step and word made the process feel more real. It was all too real. I had lived all these years in a blurry unconsciousness and now my thoughts and feelings were realer than they’d ever been. Honestly, it was exhausting. I had no idea how people lived like this.

I was glad for my week off of work. I told Thenadier it was a family emergency. Eponine knows me well enough to know that was bullshit but she wasn’t the type to pry.

The first day was easy. Enjolras wouldn’t stop texting me. He was convinced that if I went five hours without alcohol I’d start smashing windows and skulls just to get it. In all fairness, it’s not like I could tell him I wouldn’t. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d gone 24 hours without drinking. I was half scared I’d lose my shit too.

The day was the exact opposite. I didn’t know what to do with myself. Normally, if I was bored I’d get a drink. Hell, even if I wasn’t bored I’d get a drink. I didn’t know what to do with the extra time. I didn’t know how to control my thoughts when they were so fucking loud. I didn’t even know what to do with my goddamn hands.

I decided to distract myself by painting. I had bought canvases a while ago that were on sale, with a half-hearted thought that maybe I’d start painting again. I didn’t and they sat there collecting dust but never thrown away. Now I pulled them out along with the brushes and paints I still had from art school.

My fingers moved on their own, still remembering what to do. I didn't come in with a plan so I embraced the abstractness. It was only colors and lines without meaning. And I continued that way until the light from the window wasn’t enough to see. The lamp made the colors look duller than the sun, so I put everything down and went to sleep.

The second day was...interesting. My head threatened to split open and my hands shook while I tried to paint. From small bearable tremors to sudden muscle movements that would slide the brush to the other side of the canvas or knock over the cups. I drank coffee after coffee hoping the caffeine might counteract some of whatever the fuck was going on with my body.

The third day was unbearable. I dreamed that I melted in the bed, dripping down the sides of it. Enjolras grabbed a paintbrush and dipped it in what was left of me and spread me across a canvas. Being a painting didn’t feel as mystical as it sounded. I felt constricted, every movement a fight against the heavy density of the paint. I thought I might suffocate, and each stroke was a prison sentence.

I woke up covered in sweat and I must have been screaming because Feuilly burst into my room. He was hugging me and telling me to quiet down but I couldn’t hear myself. I eventually passed out from the draining panic.

When I woke, I took advantage of my temporary clarity to get some Valium. I had done enough of my own research to know that I’d need benzos. I wouldn’t tell Enjolras I was doing them. He wouldn’t want me to, but there was no way I could get through this without them.

On the fourth day, I went from sweating through my sheets to freezing to death. My hands were too cold to paint so instead I stared at the canvas. I sat in a burrito of blankets trying to stop myself from freaking out when I’d hear voices coming from the other rooms. At first, I had thought it was Feuilly. I had rushed into the living room, desperate to no longer be alone, only to realize that no one else was in the apartment. I was ignoring them now. Sometimes it was the sound of my mother calling me. Asking me where I was. Other times it was Enjolras. I would hear him yelling in the bathroom or laughing in the kitchen. His voice would sound younger as it passed through the hallway. A few times I thought I heard Jehan. Their grave voice would be saying over and over again, “This isn’t living R.”

The voices went away on the fifth day, and the benzos were taking care of the more intense symptoms. That did mean I was high most of the time, and I tried to keep everyone as far away as I could. It wasn’t as hard as I thought it would be and that made me nervous that somehow everyone knew. Enjolras probably made up a shitty excuse for my absence that everyone saw through immediately. I’d be more bothered by that, but I couldn’t be bothered by much on Valium. So, I continued to lock myself away in my room and painted until my arms grew weak.

By the time the sixth day arrived I felt lucky that I could still keep track of time. I had been feeling so out of it. Forgetting my thoughts before they finished. Calling Feuilly by the wrong names. Walking into rooms and not knowing why I was there. Not to mention that there didn’t seem to be enough water in the world for how dehydrated I felt. I didn’t even know where my phone was anymore, and I had no desire to find it. I put the finishing touches on my painting and spent the day trying to figure out what I was looking at.

On day seven, I was laying on the couch. I had set the painting in front of the TV and was continuing my daily practice of staring at it. A shadow eclipsed over the painting and I worried that I was hallucinating again.

“Are you okay?”

I screamed and fell onto the carpet. I lifted my face off the floor to see Enjolras standing behind the couch and staring down at me. It looked like I was about to be smited by an angry god.

“Answer me Grantaire. Are you okay? I don’t want to yell at you if you don’t feel well.”

“Yeah...yeah I’m fine,” I stuttered, peeling myself off the floor. “I would still prefer not to be yelled at though.”

“You said you wouldn’t push me away,” he said, anger morphing into something sadder.

My brain cell was going into overdrive trying to figure this one out. Was this really Enjolras? Or did my guilt cause me to hallucinate him? I kept staring at him in uncertainty and eventually Enjolras noticed and frowned.

“What are you doing?” he asked, eyebrows knitted together.

I reached my finger slowly across the couch. He went cross-eyed as I touched his nose. I screamed again, “Fuck! You’re real!”

“Of course I’m real,” he scoffed. “Wait, have you been hallucinating?”

“Not recently,” I mumbled, “I just...how did you get in here?”

He looked guilty as he held out a key. “I used the key you keep taped under the door. But only because you haven’t answered any of the times I’ve knocked.”

“How many times did you knock?”

“Almost every day for the last week R,” he growled.

Oh. It occurred to me now that maybe I wasn’t hallucinating every time I thought I heard Enjolras.

“Didn’t Feuilly tell you I was okay?” 

Enjolras walked past the couch to sit on the old recliner we kept near it. “He did, but I had to see for myself. I know that’s not a good reason to break into your apartment, but it’s the only one I have.”

I shrugged. “It’s fine. I’ve been out of it.”

“I wish you would talk to me about what you’re feeling?” he whispered.

“All we do is talk Enjolras,” I groaned. “Don’t you get tired of the sound of your own voice? I know I’m tired of mine."

”You always do this,” he sighed.

“I’m sorry,” I mumbled, laying my head back down on the couch. “I’m just not ready yet.”

“Ready for what?”

_To be the man you want me to be. To accept whatever the hell it is you’re trying to give me._ “I don’t know.”

“You never know,” he said, but there wasn’t any malice behind it. “I should probably leave.”

I didn’t stop him. I turned on my side and began looking at the painting again. I could hear the rickety chair squeak as he stood up.

“I’ll let you keep staring at yourself.”

“What does that mean?” I asked, tilting my head up at him.

I thought his comment might have been some weird jab, but he seemed honestly baffled by the question.

“Your painting. It’s a self-portrait, right? I know it’s abstract but there are the eyes, the hair,” he said, gesturing vaguely to the canvas. “It’s good by the way.”

He waited for a response but I never said anything. Finally, he let out a breath and started for the door again.

“If you need space, I’ll give it to you. You know where to find me when you’re ready.”

The door closed quietly behind him. I might have felt bad if I wasn’t so confused. My eyes poured over the stark lines and blotches of color, trying to find where I was in all that chaos.

* * *

The next week went by in a blur. I stored the painting away in my closet to give myself some peace of mind and attempted to resume normal life. Enjolras had been right about bartending. It felt like divine punishment having to serve liquor every night and not being able to touch any of it. I kept giving people drinks on the house, trying to vicariously get drunk through them.

“That’s the third round you’ve given away for free,” said Eponine, bringing glasses back to the bar front. “Thenadier is gonna be pissed.”

I shrugged and kept wiping the glasses. She set her elbows on the table and stared at me suspiciously. “You’re awfully antsy these days.”

“Antsy?” I asked, hoping my face didn’t give anything away.

“Yeah. You’ve been running back and forth all night. You’re cleaning glasses right now, that’s not even your job. I’m just saying, it’s out of character.”

“I’m in a good mood,” I shrugged.

“Good mood, huh?” she drawled, smiling slyly. “Does this good mood have something to do with your Apollo?”

“Yes,” I answered, and technically it wasn’t a lie. This new feeling like I’d fall into a million pieces if I stood still had everything to do with Enjolras.

Eponine waggled her eyebrows at me and went back to serve more drinks.

My shift ended at one that night, and I had to rush out the bar to avoid explaining to everyone why I wasn’t down for celebratory shots. Not that there was anything to celebrate. I hadn’t realized how stupid the excuses we made to drink were until I wasn’t making them anymore.

I walked back to the apartment and as I approached the building, my feet walked right past it. I knew where they were walking to, and every stop sign I passed felt personal. But there was no resisting the urge that led me into the nicer part of the city. Metal trash cans and pruned trees lining the sidewalk. I skipped the elevator and decided to run up the stairs. My fingers twisting into knots in my pockets. It wasn’t long before I was standing on plush carpet and looking at golden lettering. I knocked before I could convince myself not to.

I held my breath as I saw the handle turn, and it all came out in a rush when he appeared in the doorway. He was wearing red boxers and an oversized t-shirt, the black lettering chipped off and faded. His hair was braided back but it was half undone. Entire strands had escaped and now fell loosely around his face. He squinted at me through tired eyes, as if he thought he might still be sleeping.

“Hi,” I squeaked out. Awareness flooded his eyes and I could tell he had realized that he wasn’t dreaming. Surprisingly his first instinct wasn’t to slam the door shut.

“Hey stranger,” he rasped out, his voice was soft but cracked with sleep and the sound of it made my blood rush. I felt calmer than I had in days, and it unsettled me just how much I missed hearing it. Great, another addiction to kick.

“It’s the middle of the night,” I said, avoiding eye contact.

“I sure hope you didn’t wake me up just to tell me that.”

I shuffled my feet. “No...I meant...it’s the middle of the night so if you want me to leave I will.”

He eyed me up and down. I knew what he was looking for. He was trying to sense if I was drunk.

“I’m not,” I said, answering the question that hadn’t been asked yet, “Still sober.”

He nodded and rubbed at his eyes. “That’s good.”

An uncomfortable silence settled between us.

“Are you going to ask to come in or do I have to invite you in?” he asked, breaking it.

“Did I forget to tell you I was a vampire?” I gasped in mock surprise.

“You’re an idiot,” he said, rolling his eyes. “Get in here.”

I couldn’t resist the urge to smile after I walked into Enjolras’ apartment after weeks. “I can’t believe you invited me across the threshold. What a rookie mistake,” I said, closing the door behind me.

“If you’re going to keep making bad jokes then I’m going to need coffee,” he muttered, bare feet padding across the kitchen.

“You used to love my jokes,” I accused, sitting down on one of the metal stools he kept at the kitchen island.

His hair had fallen loose and he grabbed one of the scrunchies that were always littered around his apartment to put it up. While he did it he laughed, head thrown back slightly.

His eyes were drooping and his smile was lopsided and I thought I might be the one who was dreaming.

“I also used to think boots and shorts made a good combo, so my taste was questionable back then.”

“What?” I gasped. “I loved your rain boots and daisy dukes combo.”

“They weren’t that short,” he huffed.

“That’s not what your parents said when they found out that Jehan had cut all your school pants that length.”

He hid his face in his hands, “Oh god don’t remind me.”

I doubled over the kitchen island laughing. “You can’t make fun of me for it. You enabled us! You said it was a good idea!" Enjolras yelled in fake indignation.

I tried to suppress my laughter long enough to talk. “It _was_ a good idea. I say the more leg the better. It’s a shame the school didn’t feel the same way though.”

Enjolras was as red as his boxers. He turned back to the coffeepot and I finally gained control of myself. Silence settled again but this one was welcoming and comfortable.

“It feels like it was yesterday sometimes."

“Yeah it does,” I admitted, taking the mug from his extended hand.

“How are you feeling?” he asked, sitting across from me.

“Restless.”

“How should I help?” he said, earnest eyes as usual.

I could think of a couple of things I’d love to do with Enjolras that would use up this extra energy. The thought made me blush and I tried to hide it by drinking. “Not sure,” I mumbled into my cup.

Enjolras titled his head and rapped his fingers on the table. I tracked the steady beat his nails were making on the granite while he thought in silence. Suddenly, he got up and walked towards his door where he extracted a ring of keys from a bowl. “Wanna go for a ride?” he grinned, shaking the keys in front of him.

Turns out “going for a ride” was as literal and vague as it sounded. Enjolras finally pulled on a pair of pants which alone brought my heartbeat back to normal levels. It was still dark out and the night air was crisp. I sat in the passenger’s seat looking out of the window and not seeing anything. I turned my attention to Enjolras. He was clearer than the shadow-filled city we were passing through. His fingers were tapping again. This time along to the song playing on the car radio. His window was rolled down and golden strands flew around his head. The warm breezes of early May cutting through the cold. His mouth moved slightly singing the words of the song as we drove aimlessly. I thought to ask where we were going, but I didn’t really care.

“I’m happy you went to art school,” he said. “I know you didn’t finish but...I had always pictured you at art school.”

“Pictured me?”

“It’s embarrassing,” he sighed, face cringing, “but I'd think of you sometimes and I’d try to picture what you grew up like. My imaginary Grantaire went to art school, so I guess I wasn’t too far off.”

“Well you didn’t guess everything,” I mumbled, turning back to look at the abyss outside.

“No, not everything,” he whispered. I heard him shifting in his seat. “What about me?”

“What about you?” I asked.

“Am I like you imagined I’d be?”

“Yes,” I answered without hesitation. “Though I thought you would’ve grown out of wearing so much red.”

Enjolras barked out a laugh. “I’ll have you know that plenty of people have told me that red is my color.”

I couldn’t argue with that.

Enjolras faced me fully when we stopped at a light. “There’s nothing about me that’s different?”

I thought about it more. About any difference that might exist between the boy I knew and the man I was still getting to know. “You always cared about things more than others,” I started, "but when we were younger you only knew how to express it as anger. Directionless fury. And now I think you know where you’re going. All that anger is constructive, it’s passion.”

I felt stupid for having said that but Enjolras grinned. He didn’t respond, he just turned back to the road, smile still on his face, and kept driving.

We were almost out of city limits, riding through the nicer roads of the outskirts. I hummed along to the song playing and my ears perked up when Enjolras started speaking again. I liked the way his voice didn’t interrupt the ambiance. It was rhythmic. Blending in with the wind and the music and the steady roll of the car. I was so focused on its sound that I almost missed what he was actually saying.

“You’re not different at all.”

It was my turn to laugh.

“You’re not,” he emphasized. “You’re still quiet and contemplative even though you try to pretend you’re not. You’re still creative even if you hide it. And you’re still easy to talk to.”

“Easy to talk to? I think you’re forgetting more than half of our conversations.”

“That's when you were trying to be an asshole,” he scoffed.

“And now?” I asked.

He paused a moment. “Now, you’re just being you.”

“And who is that?”

His eyes had a purple tint to them in the red glow of the stoplight. “You’re sober now R. Don’t you feel okay?”

I decided not to say anything about him answering a question with another question. Instead, I looked at the car and saw the warm glow of the radio. I looked at Enjolras and saw the brightness that never left his face. I looked outside and saw the fake horizon made by the city lights. I looked inside myself and saw nothing.

“Is this what okay feels like?”

He looked around as if he was taking note of all the same things I was. “Yeah."

“Then I’m okay.”

I forced myself to give him a smile and he returned it genuinely. He changed the song and turned it up. “Roll down your window R, it’s nice out there.”

So I did, and it was.

The joyride went on without any more unnecessary deepness. Enjolras sang to the radio and pestered me until I joined in. We laughed at jokes. We talked about the events of our lives after we had parted and before we came back together.

“She sounds pretty,” said Enjolras, referencing the girl I had my first serious relationship with.

“Are you jealous Apollo?” I teased.

He made a strained noise, “Of course I’m not.”

“Then why are you blushing right now?”

He moved his hand to cover his face. “I’m not blushing,” he whined.

“Don’t be embarrassed Enj,” I laughed. “I thought you said red was your color.”

Mostly, we talked about nothing at all. It was one more thing recovered, and I wanted so desperately for it to be enough.

The time flew by as quickly as the street signs, and soon we were back at Enjolras’ apartment.

“It’ll be morning soon,” he said, parking the car, “Want some breakfast?”

“For the love of God, let me make it this time."

Enjolras practically giggled and it made my heart swell. He was right. I was so close to being the sort of person that deserved him. So close to okay. All I needed was a few more days sober.

* * *

It was a still morning. I hadn’t slept that night, so I’d been up to watch the sunrise. I made my bed from where it had been disheveled by tossing and turning. I showered. I dressed. I put music on while I made breakfast.

“That smells amazing,” Feuilly said as he shuffled into the kitchen.

“Do you have time to eat?”

He grabbed a piece of bacon from the plate I’d set it on. “Mmm, something quick.”

“I thought you didn’t work today,” I said, taking mugs down from the cabinet.

“I got called in.”

I made a sympathetic noise and continued to mix in the creamer.

It occurred to me how quiet it was. I mean, it wasn’t really. The radio was playing on low in the background. The sound of the fridge opening and closing and dishes being moved around filled the kitchen. Feuilly had even turned on the TV and I could hear the news coming from the other room. But it felt quiet. It was an odd feeling that I wasn’t used to, but that didn’t mean it was bad. So, I ignored it and brought plates out to the living room.

Feuilly was out the door soon after and the day passed in an unusually pleasant manner. I cleaned up. I read. I took a nap. I made tea. Around the afternoon I received a text from Jehan.

Jehan: heyyy :) how are you

I wasn’t sure how I was feeling, but I guess I knew how I wasn’t feeling. I didn’t feel sad. I didn’t feel angry. I didn’t feel anxious or jittery. So, good? Yeah, good.

R: i feel good

Jehan: perfect! r u busy?

R: no why

Jehan: wanna pick some things up from the store for me and bring them to my place???

R: should I even ask why u can’t do it urself

Jehan: u can but I won’t give u a straight answer ;)

R: ur insane, send me the list

It was warmer than it had been all month, the temperate weather of May starting to give way as the city heated up. The sun was out and it beat down in full force on everything under it. That unfortunately included me and I sweated in my hoodie.

I breathed out in relief as I walked into Jehan’s air-conditioned apartment building. The grocery bag swung from my arm as I made my way up the stairs. I had texted Jehan that I was on my way and they had told me to let myself in. So, I knocked to announce my arrival and then turned the handle. It was completely dark inside except for the light coming through the slits in the curtains.

“Umm…Jehan?” I yelled out, walking into the room and closing the door behind me. The room was silent but I thought I heard slight movement. “Hello?” I called out again.

“SURPRISE!”

I yelped and almost dropped the bag from the sight of everyone jumping out from behind furniture and walls.

“Jesus fucking Christ, what the hell is this?” I yelled, clutching the bag to me.

“It’s your ‘Congratulations on One Month Sober’ party,” said Marius, pointing to a badly done sign hanging above his head. The ‘Congratulations’ was too large and the rest of the words were squeezed together. Not only was I upset by the lack of proper spacing, but the entire thing in general.

“Guys -” I started angrily before Jehan interrupted me.

“We already know what you’re going to say. ‘Why would you do this? How did you even find out? This is stupid and my sobriety isn’t that important,” said Jehan, doing a very offensive impression of me.

“I don’t sound like that,” I mumbled.

“You do. And the answers to your complaints are: because we’re your friends, Enjolras is a bad liar, and this is important and so is your sobriety,” they retorted.

I noticed Feuilly standing farther off, having jumped out from behind the couch.

"Aren't you supposed to be at work? Did you know about this?" I gasped.

"Guilty," answered Feuilly, shamelessly.

“We knew you wouldn’t agree so that’s why we made it a surprise,” said Joly, “Please let us do this R.”

I sighed. “Fine.”

“Hey, you brought the chips!” shouted Courfeyrac, grabbing the bag from me.

“Wait, did I just buy food for my own surprise party?”

“Yeah,” Jehan admitted wincing. “Combeferre brought dip so…”

I rolled my eyes and joined them where the rest of the group eagerly waited for me near the couches.

“We’re so proud of you R,” Cosette said, gathering me into a hug. Cosette hugs were impossible to resist so I surrendered to it.

“I got you something,” she whispered into my ear. I looked down to see that she had grabbed something out of her purse. “I made it myself. I know you're not doing AA but I thought you’d still like a physical reminder of your progress.”

She held out a pin. It was bright green and in the shape of a heart. Adorned with swirling letters that said, “one day at a time” and a “30” engraved above it.

“The 30 is for how many days you’ve been sober,” she explained, placing the pin in my hand. “You don’t have to accept it though if you don’t want to,” she quickly added, noting my silence.

“No, no I…” I didn’t know how to finish my sentence. The pin felt heavier than it was, carrying with it more love than I was owed. I thought it might burn a hole through my palm. “Thank you,” I choked out.

She smiled and didn’t comment on my decision to put it in my pocket instead of wearing it.

I cleared my throat and tried to reenter the party’s nonchalant atmosphere. “I’m guessing there’s no alcohol here. Feels like I’m at a middle school party.”

“I fucking wish,” laughed Musichetta. “If this was a middle school party I’d be playing Just Dance right now instead of listening to you all tell the same stories again.”

“Hey, you love our stories,” chimed Bousset, kissing her cheek.

“Whose idea was this?” I asked.

“Well throwing a party was Courf’s idea,” answered Bahorel, “but Enj is the one who suggested we do something.”

I turned my head towards the blond who had been quiet since I came in. He smiled at me shyly. “You’re not mad are you?”

“I’m not.”

That was met with more than one skeptical look.

“I’m not,” I insisted. “Thank you. All of you, honestly.”

It was honest. I wasn’t mad at them for throwing me a party. I was mad at myself for being unable to enjoy it. The weird feeling followed me around from conversation to conversation. I felt quiet and still and I thought for a moment that maybe it was peace. The peace I had earned. The peace I’d been promised. But as the sun fell down and with it all my energy and patience, I started to realize I had been wrong. All my drunkenness was successfully drained away and it left a hole. I felt empty and the realization broke me. Hadn’t I done what I was supposed to? Hadn’t I made the right decision?

I wanted to find Enjolras and scream at him. Accuse him of lying. Accuse them all of having been wrong about me. I didn’t. Instead, I sat and nursed a cup of tea as Courfeyrac told us about the train wreck of a blind date he’d gone on last week. I laughed when they laughed. I smiled when they smiled. I didn’t lash out or run away or get drunk. I just fiddled with the pin in my pocket and wondered how many days would need to be engraved on it before I finally felt something again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Buckle up folks cause we're about to enter some turbulence. 
> 
> The next update is probably going to take just as long, but make sure to drop your songs in the comments it honestly helps me SO much.


	5. Depression

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "When you are not fed love on a silver spoon, you learn to lick it off knives." 
> 
> \- Lauren Eden

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope I'm not speaking into the void, but I've finally updated! Between school and a bunch of other nasty surprises, my writing got delayed. I'm determined to finish this story though. So, enjoy!
> 
> (Also I've updated the tags. If you want no spoilers then you should probably just proceed, but if you'd rather be careful then check those out.)

_ My head was still swimming when the light hit my eyes. _

_ I was at least 50% sure the bright blob above me was my ceiling. Which meant I had managed to make it home last night. I internally sighed and pushed my head back into the pillow. I laid in agonizing pain for a few more minutes until the ache behind my eyes steadied. It had never been this bad before. Though I had never drunk that much before so I suppose I deserved it. I tried to block out the light further with my arms and go back to sleep. I was almost there when my stomach made an ungodly sound. _

_ Fuck fuck fuck. My unwillingness to vomit in bed forced me to my feet. I hit the door frame as I slid out of my room, and threw open the bathroom door without hesitation. _

_ The vomit stopped for the single second it took to notice the strange man, pants down and dick out, in our bathroom. Then it came back quick and all over his shoes. _

_ “You threw up on him!” _

_ “Yeah well, he’s still in there if you guys wanna talk about it,” I mumbled. _

_ Mom set down the coffee pot and rushed past me. _

_ “Jesus fucking Christ Grantaire you little -.” Her slew of colorful phrases faded out as she went farther into the hallway. _

_ I collapsed onto the couch and waited for her to come back. _

_ “- I’ll clean it up and you can take a shower -” I could hear her begging as footsteps got closer. I closed my eyes tighter against the sharp sound of them. _

_ “I should just go,” said a gruff voice, and the click of the door followed. _

_ Beautiful silence came over the house. I let my guard down. That’s when plastic smashed down on my head. _

_ “Ow!” I opened my eyes to see a bottle of aspirin rolling off of me. I looked over to see my mother ignoring me as she slammed the counter shut. _

_ “Hey, I’m sorry,” I apologized, sitting up as much as I could. “Who was he?” _

_ “Doesn’t matter now,” she sighed, “He’s never gonna come back.” _

_ “If it’s any consolation, I think I’m dying.” _

_ “You’re not dying, you’re hungover,” she said as she searched the fridge. Suddenly, she froze and gave me the sort of look that always meant a tirade was coming. _

_ “It’s already impossible dating with a child and then you...you..,” she pressed a hand to her forehead and took a deep breath. “Why do you have to make everything so hard?” _

_ “I said I was sorry,” I groaned, laying back down. _

_ “Do you want me to die alone?” _

_ I wanted to say ‘you have me’ but deep down we both knew I had never been enough. _

_ Instead, I quietly grabbed the glass she handed me. I swallowed down two pills and waited for the pain to pass. _

I woke up. The memory faded from the back of my eyes as I blinked around the room.

Feuilly poked his head in the doorway, “Dude are you still laying down?”

“What time is it?” I asked, dragging myself up.

“Almost six.”

I slid out of the covers and rubbed my eyes. “Fucking exhausted.”

He threw a clean shirt at me. “Well, it’s time for the meeting. Enjolras said attendance is mandatory for this one.”

“He say why?” I asked, pulling it over my head.

“Think it’s about the rally. The one against the city’s new rezoning.”

I sighed, “You mean the one to block the bill that’s definitely going to pass anyway.”

Feuilly barked out a laugh as he locked the door behind us. “Don’t tell him that.”

Unfortunately for Feuilly, I had already told him that. Unfortunately for me, Enjolras couldn’t have cared less. Which is why I had to listen to Combeferre explain zoning laws for the tenth time. All while wishing I was drinking something stronger than coffee.

The meeting was to make sure we had ironed out all the kinks before the big day. By we, I mean essentially everyone but me. My duties solely consisted of showing up. Something I was confused as to why Enjolras would be worried about.

“You’re really gonna be there?”

“Yes Enj, I will,” I said, turning my smile towards the window.

“Why?”

The pine-scented air freshener swung lazily between us. “You’ve never come to them before,” he mentioned.

“I had a lot going on,” I shrugged.

“And now?”

“Now...I just want to."

He pulled up effortlessly to the curb and faced me.

I hated the tension at the end of our goodbyes now. It was the anxiety that you should be doing something but you’re not sure what.

Enjolras didn’t breathe for a moment, and then with one long breath, he turned back towards the steering wheel.

“So...see you tomorrow.”

“Yeah,” I nodded. “You know you don’t have to keep giving me rides home.”

He shrugged. “I just want to.”

* * *

I walked inside and tried to shake off the feeling of Enjolras’ eyes on my back. Feuilly had gone out with Bousset and Joly for drinks. After a very awkward conversation that involved a lot of dancing around the point, he told me not to expect him back tonight. I knew he was worried about hurting my feelings -  _ “Not that we don’t want you to come. It’s just that it probably wouldn’t be good for you...you understand right?” _ \- but the peace and quiet were nice. Everyone was acting like my personally assigned sober coach lately, and it was enough to make me want to go off the rails out of spite.

“We need to talk.”

I whipped around to see Eponine and my oncoming heart attack slowly backed off.

“Well you’ve already broken into my house, so why not."

“You asshole,” she snapped, “I have a key.”

“Oh right.”

Truthfully, I hadn’t thought about Eponine in a while. Which, regrettably, did make me an asshole. I’d been running out of the bar the minute my shift was over and ignoring all her texts. I didn’t want to, but I didn’t know what she’d say if I told her I stopped drinking. I knew my old friends would have the same reaction to me going sober that the Amis had to me being a drunk.

Eponine paced across the kitchen floor. “Are you dating that blond guy?”

I almost choked on my own saliva. “Enjolras?”

“Yes,” she huffed, rounding on me.

I stared into suspicious eyes. “No, I’m not. Why would you think I was?”

Her anger dissipated and she sat down at the table. Her face was a painting of perfect neutrality, but her tone betrayed her when she said, “Because I don’t know why else you’d be avoiding me.”

I rubbed my hands over my face. “I didn’t mean to, I -”

“I know he doesn’t like me,” she interrupted.

“He’s never said that.”

“He doesn’t have to.”

I sat back in my chair suddenly exhausted again. “You should meet them.”

“Why? So they can make me their next pet project,” she snarled.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” I asked, feeling the frustration building in the back of my head.

“Why haven’t I seen you in weeks R?”

I let the silence drag on but Eponine didn’t budge. “I’m sober now," I confessed.

“You just proved my point,” she scoffed.

“What point?”

“They’re trying to change you Grantaire!” she yelled, slamming her hands down emphatically.

“So? I didn’t like who I was.”

“And now?”

The question took me aback. I couldn’t give her the answer I wished I could so I didn’t say anything.

Eponine stood up again, balled fists still planted firmly on the table. “You don’t,” she answered for me. “Because you haven’t changed at all. You’ll never be one of them R. You know why Enjolras hasn’t asked you out. He knows that no matter how hard he tries he’ll never be able to turn you into a carbon copy of him and all his flunkies. You’re not good enough for them. And it’s time you realized that’s not such a bad thing.”

The sting I felt in the back of my eyes surprised me. “Why can’t you just be happy for me?” I rasped out.

She took a deep breath and loosened her grip on the tablecloth.

“Are  _ you _ happy?”

She didn't wait for me to answer. She picked up her bag and walked out, leaving me with nothing but the question still echoing off the walls.

_ I stared at the threadbare spots in the curtains. I knew the phone would ring soon or at least I hoped it would. After a couple more rounds of tracing the tablecloth with my finger, it began to vibrate. _

_ “Mom, where are you?” I asked, picking up the phone. _

_ “I’m fine,” she responded against the sounds of heavy traffic, “Where are you?” _

_ “I’m still at the house.” _

_ “Why?” _

_ “Mom you’re acting like a…” _

_ “Like a bitch? Just say it Grantaire, you’ve said it plenty of times before.” _

_ “...come home and we can talk about this.” _

_ “I’m done talking about this. I can’t do this with you anymore Grantaire. We’ve been doing it for years and I...I...God, I don’t know why I thought I could raise you by myself. Look how you've turned out. I should have …” _

_ “What? Gave me up? It’s nothing you haven’t said either.” _

_ “I’m coming home soon. Don’t be there when I arrive.” _

_ “Are you kicking me out?” _

_ “You’re 18, ‘Taire. Besides, you got into art school. Your bags are by the door.” _

_ “I can’t believe after all this time you’re throwing me away.” _

_ “I'm not happy 'Taire. Are you happy?” _

_ I let my silence speak for itself. _

_ "Good luck in the city mijo," her calm voice said, "and goodbye." _

* * *

It was hot. The heat blanketed the city now and wrapped around anyone brave enough to go outside like a sweater. I could feel it, uncomfortably resting on my arms and face. I tried to move further into the shade without losing sight of him. 

He was standing at the front on a makeshift stage. I didn’t quite grasp how they always set these things up. How they even managed to get so many people to come. “Because people care, _”_ he’d probably say. In fact, maybe that’s what he was saying. I couldn’t tell over the buzz of the crowd. I thought about moving forward. Squeezing through the people and homemade poster boards until I reached the edge of the stage. So close his words would pour over me. I could imagine his eyes searching subconsciously over the crowd. Searching for me among screaming, distorted faces. 

But it was hot, and the edge of the stage was where the fever was at its highest. So, instead, I stood under the shade of a closed storefront. Clapping along lightly whenever the crowd went into a roar. Watching him walk back and forth along the stage like a spreading fire. He belonged up there, and I had known that since my first and only other rally.

_ “When your mother said don’t wander off, I think this is what she was talking about.” _

_ Enjolras let out a dramatic sigh as he swished his hair out of his face. He was trying to grow it long but I knew his mother would cut it herself if she had to. _

_ “No one forced you to come,” he fired back, sticking out his tongue. _

_ “You knew I wasn’t going to let you go alone,” I huffed. _

_ “Then, come on.” He grabbed my hand and like that, I knew he had won. _

_ We had snuck off to a rally happening downtown while shopping with his mother and her friend. Not that I knew what a rally was. All I knew was that it kept getting louder and louder the closer we got. The police had blocked off the main street, and my breath caught when we arrived. _

_ A flood of people had replaced the usual cars. They cheered wildly at the profanities pouring through the speakers. It scared me. Enjolras must have noticed because he held my hand tighter so I couldn’t back away. _

_ “Let’s get closer,” he shouted over the noise. _

_ I tried to protest but he was already dragging me into the crowd. We were small enough that it didn’t take much to maneuver through the gaps between shouting bodies. Soon enough, we were at the metal barricades separating us from the stage. I stared between the bars, Enjolras was only just taller than them. _

_ “What are they talking about?” I whispered to him. _

_ “It’s one of those anti-gay marriage things," he whispered back. "They’ve been happening since another state made it legal." _

_ “What?” I asked, barely understanding a thing he said. _

_ Enjolras rolled his eyes as if every 10-year-old knew these things. Then he started trying to climb the barricade. _

_ “E, what are you doing?” _

_ “Nothing if you don’t help me over,” he replied. _

_ Against my better judgment, I gave him a leg up. I watched nervously as he swung over and landed on the other side of the metal bars. _

_ "Your turn," he said, looking at me. _

_ My eyes must've bulged out of my head. I didn't know what Enjolras was planning, but I was already imagining all the horrible ways it could end. _

_ "I - I'm too short," I stuttered. _

_ Enjolras glanced around. His eyes landed at the edge of the metal barricade where it didn't extend long enough but left a small gap. _

_ "You can slip through there." _

_ "Enj..." I trailed off. _

_ If I was hoping for some sympathy I got the exact opposite. _

_ "Why are you always so scared?" he scoffed. _

_ Before I could defend myself, he was already off. _

_ He ran towards the stairs and was immediately stopped by security. To my surprise, he started talking to them. Though I was too far away now to hear what they were saying. Next thing I knew, Enjolras was being allowed on the stage. _

_ My heart was in my stomach but Enjolras didn’t seem to share my anxiety. His face was full of fake seriousness and I could see him struggling to hide his shit-eating grin. _

_ “We love to hear from today’s youth, the future of protecting the American family, don’t we?” yelled the short man on stage and the crowd cheered in answer. _

_ I had no idea what Enjolras had promised these bigots he'd say, but I know it wasn't what was about to come out of his mouth. _

_ “This young man here has something he’d like to tell you all.” _

_ Enjolras reached out and grabbed the mic. My fingers turned white against the bars. He cleared his throat. The crowd fell silent. _

_ “I’m gay.” _

_ I facepalmed. _

_ At that time, I only knew about three swear words, but I learned a whole handful more that day. Enjolras seemed amused by the chaos he'd caused even as he was dragged off the stage by his shirt collar. I panicked as they took him out of my view. _

_ “Enjolras!” I yelled, trying to get his attention. I moved quickly along the barricade to follow him but as the noise died down he was nowhere to be seen. "Enjolras!" _

“Enjolras!”

I snapped back into reality at the sound of someone yelling. The stage had gone quiet, but the audience had gotten louder. A commotion was happening somewhere on the other side of the street.

My feet began moving without me and they ran in the direction of the fight. I had reached the edge of it when someone grabbed me.

“Hey, fuck off!” I yelled, violently shoving away from the figure.

“Chill man!” said a familiar voice.

“Bahorel?”

He was sweating from the heat and a panicked look spread across his face.

“What the hell is going on?" I asked.

“Some counter-protesters got violent. Enjolras is trying to -”

Both are heads swung around at the sound of a baton angrily smashing against someone’s back.

“Apollo!”

I practically tackled the cop standing above him, which couldn’t have been legal. His buddy seemed to agree as he brought his baton down on the side of my face.

I searched for Enjolras out of the eye I could still see from. I only caught a blurry vision of red before one of the cops pulled me up.

“Let me go,” I slurred, shoving away rough hands. I was released for only a second before another hand grabbed mine.

“Come on!” screamed Enjolras as he tugged me away from the center of the fight.

He barreled through the street, dragging me behind him. He stared straight ahead, paying no mind to the shouting and running around us. I felt like Eurydice being led out of the Underworld. One look back and I’d fall into nothing.

Soon it grew quiet around us but Enjolras kept running. The stitch in my side brought me out of my trance, and I pressed my heels against the sidewalk to stop us.

“Enjolras! I think we’re safe.”

Enjolras finally turned to me, hair blown into his face and chest heaving.

He laughed hysterically for a few seconds and I was afraid he’d snapped. Suddenly, he stopped and pushed his hair back behind his ears. “That has got to stop happening,” he sighed with a tired smile.

My concern died under the weight of his indifference and I found myself getting angry.

“Fucking Christ, Enj! We could have gotten arrested!” I shouted, ripping my hand from his.

His smile went a little dumb as he looked at me, “You came.”

“Yeah I did,” I groaned, “and I’ve got the black eye to prove it.”

“My apartment’s not far from here. Let’s go put some ice on that.”

I hadn’t been to Enjolras’ apartment since that long night spent in the passenger seat of his car. It looked the same if not messier. The remnants of planning the failed rally were all over.

“Here you go,” murmured Enjolras, pressing an ice pack lightly against my face. He was close to me now and moved away only slightly as I grabbed hold of it.

“I didn’t see you. I mean, not until you attacked a police officer,” he laughed.

“I was in the back,” I said, wincing as I adjusted the ice pack. “You okay?”

He lifted up his shirt and poked at the slight beginnings of a bruise. “Nothing I haven’t gotten before.”

"Aren't you upset the rally failed?"

"It depends on how you look at it," he said, shrugging. "Yeah things went to shit, but we still managed to get the message out there."

I shook my head in disbelief. “How could anyone be this passionate over a rezoning bill?”

Enjolras frowned, “It’s important, R.”

“Not important enough to get knocked in the fucking face for,” I grumbled.

He leaned away from me, “Then why did you come?”

I sat the ice pack on the table and stared at it. “Isn’t it obvious?”

In the following seconds of silence, I could feel him scoot closer again. “Tell me.”

“Because you asked me to.”

I let my confession hang in the air, and I thought I saw Enjolras' lips separate for a moment. I always wondered what would’ve happened if I had just let him speak.

“Maybe that’s not enough for you though.”

He furrowed his brow in confusion. “What?”

If Eponine had been trying to plant doubt in my head then she had succeeded. It hadn’t been hard. She only floated to the surface thoughts that already lived deep in my mind.

“I’ll never be good at this,” I whispered.

“At what?”

I stood up abruptly, suddenly needing to feel the distance between us. “At caring. At showing up. At not fucking up everything.”

Enjolras got up and tried to come near me. He looked hurt when I backed away. “Where is this coming from? Did that cop give you a concussion?”

“Does it really not bother you?” My voice was high and raspy. It probably sounded like I was going crazy.

“I don’t think you’re well Grantaire,” Enjolras said calmly. "You should lay down."

“No! I-I don’t...Enjolras I’m not an idealist.”

“Well not yet,” he responded.

I rubbed my hands over my face, it stung in response. “Oh my god, she’s right.”

“Who’s right? R? R, will you just sit down!” he shouted reaching for me again.

“Who do you think I’m gonna be at the end of all this?” I asked, dodging him.

His face turned to stone and he started walking away. “I’m not doing this right now.”

“Where are you going?”

He disappeared into his kitchen and I could hear the slamming of cabinets. “It’s been a bad day. I’m going to make us some coffee and you’re going to calm down," I heard him say.

The pressure was building in the room and I was ready to explode. “I don’t want your fucking coffee! I'm tired of coffee!”

He reappeared in the doorway, a mug swinging dangerously in his hand. “Oh I’m sorry, should I pour you a drink instead?”

My eyes widened and I could already see him regret saying it.

“See?” I scoffed, “Even you know I’m never going to change.”

“I’m not trying to change you!” he yelled.

“Then what are you trying to do?”

“I’m trying to love you!”

I opened my mouth and closed it like a fish out of water. The tension left Enjolras' shoulders and he leaned against the wall.

“Why do you have to make everything so hard?” he mumbled into his hands.

Those words suffocated the room. Instead of an explosion, a cold rush of wind traveled through me. Nothing blew apart, it crumbled.

“I guess I’m just hard to love,” I said, already shuffling towards the door.

“R, don’t go. That’s not what I meant.”

I sped up and didn’t stop until I felt the cold metal of the doorknob. “I’m sorry, this was a mistake.”

“What was?” His voice sounded thick now like he was struggling to talk.

He looked back at me.

“All of it.”

* * *

I ran out of Enjolras’ apartment building with heavy steps. The sun that had previously shone so strong it could have evaporated the tears off my face was now slipping out of sight behind the tall buildings.

The twilight was intensifying, and my feet were still walking but they weren’t bringing me anywhere. I felt numbed by the scene that had just played out. As if through his words, Enjolras had taken something from me I didn’t realize he’d given me.

I had to break the persistent silence that had settled over me. I needed something loud and obnoxious. Decadent and intense. I needed to get drunk. My fingers flew across my phone before I could change my mind.

R: u looking to get fucked up tonight?

Eponine: glad to have you back :)

Eponine: where r u? i’ll come pick you up

She pulled up against the curb a few minutes later. Music blasting out of open windows. She had a nicer car than anyone working at Waterloo could afford. Montparnasse had bought it for her. She didn’t maintain it nearly as well as he did his own. The leather seats held in the faint smell of weed from constant hotboxing and the backseats were always piled with clothes and wrappers.

She smiled as I slipped into the passenger side, cigarette balancing carelessly between her fingers. “Want one?” she asked, holding out the pack.

Only a moment of hesitation passed before I grabbed it and held it between my lips for a light.

“Glad to see you still smoke,” she said, as I inhaled deeply, melting into the seat. “Though I'm sure it's on his list.”

“I don’t want to talk about him,” I mumbled, tapping the cigarette against the windowsill and watching the ashes float down.

“What happened?”

I shot her a look.

“Okay okay,” she said, hands up in fake surrender, “I get it. Tonight’s for forgetting.”

I wanted to say that forgetting was impossible. If the years I spent trying to forget had failed, what chance did tonight have? The words never left my mouth though, only the quick exhalation of smoke.

We soared through the night. Eponine drove like a maniac. Whipping through the streets as if the other cars on the road were phantoms. It could make you feel invincible. We’d been driving for a while when the route started to feel vaguely familiar like I’d taken it in a dream - or a nightmare.

“Where are we going?” I asked.

“I have to make a detour before we go out. Gotta drop something off to Montparnasse,” she answered. “You don’t mind?”

“Course not,” I shrugged.

I didn’t recognize where we were really headed until we had already pulled up.

“Eponine…”

“I swear I didn’t know,” she said, cutting the engine.

We had heard it before we saw it. The bass was loud enough to vibrate the air around the house. People spilling out of the open doorway laughing and yelling.

“If I had known he was throwing a party I would have told you.”

She pulled down the car mirror and fixed her lipstick. Then she turned to give me a freshly ruby-red smirk. “But hey, two birds, one stone.”

I reluctantly followed her out of the car. Her heels poked small holes into the dirt as we cut across the front lawn and made our way into the house.

The interior was obscured by dim lighting and moving bodies. It was a familiar sight and the thought of joining them was enticing. I wouldn’t have thought twice about it if it wasn’t for who the host was.

“Claquesous!” Eponine chirped as she spotted the tall, angular man in the kitchen.

He turned around to greet us where he’d been talking to a short, blonde girl. At the sight of Eponine, he dismissed her immediately.

“Ep, it’s good to see you,” he beamed, teeth glinting like knives.

“You didn’t tell me you were throwing a party.”

“Well you’re here now,” he said, reaching to touch the small of her back.

“Actually,” she said, subtly moving away, “I’m looking for Parnasse.”

“Oh.” Claquesous frowned and it transformed his already harsh face into a cruel one. “Well, he’s not here.”

“He said he was,” she countered.

“You just missed him. He had to go somewhere.”

“That bastard,” I heard Eponine mumble under her breath.

Claquesous pulled down a bottle from his top shelf and three shot glasses. “But feel free to stay. Both of you,” he said, finally addressing my presence. “We’re all friends here.”

He said it in just the way that made you feel like the glasses were poisoned, but I was too hyper-focused on the bottle to care. I would have done anything for even a taste of it.

“You know, I heard that going sober for a while makes getting fucked up feel even better. Think it’s true?” Eponine asked me as Claquesous poured the shots.

I picked up the glass, “I’ll let you know.”

The answer was yes. Yes, a thousand times over. I told Eponine as much as we danced together. She couldn’t hear me over the music and we laughed and laughed and laughed about it. My skin was on fire, and it felt like the only thing keeping me from bursting into flames was the promise of one more drink.

So we knocked back another and another until we lost track. Eponine’s shoes were sparkling and she kicked them off as she fell down giggling. I couldn’t feel my face but I knew I was smiling.

I kept going until I lost track of Eponine. The people were blending in with the shadows they threw across the floor, and I knew I was too drunk. I leaned against the wall trying to get my bearings. My phone was vibrating in my pocket and I picked it up, squinting against the bright light of the screen. It was Enjolras calling me and I quickly swiped to hang up. Turns out he’d been calling me multiple times since I left. I had half a mind to turn off my phone but I couldn’t figure it out so I just stuffed it back into my pocket.

Seeing Enjolras’ name had upset me and I wanted Eponine there to hear me complain about it. Where was she? She was no longer part of the swarming mass in the main room.

I felt panicked enough that the stairs stopped spinning. I managed to crawl my way up them to search for her. It was quieter upstairs. I could hear various voices coming from different closed doors. I carried myself along the wall and tried to listen for her distinctive, silky tone.

“Claquesous! I’ve told you I have a boyfriend! Remember him. He’s only one of your best friends.”

Eponine’s angry voice clattered down the hall. It was getting harder to put two and two together but even in this state, I could tell that trouble was brewing.

I’m too messed up to deal with you right now...just...let me sleep. Claquesous, stop. I said stop! ”

I was sobering up quicker than I had wanted to but not quick enough. I tripped on a bump in the carpet and smashed my face against the floor.

“Get off of me!”

The yelling was coming from the door in front of me. I could hear the sounds of a struggle pouring from underneath it. I leaned all my weight onto the door to stand up and open it. Inside the room was dark but I could see the silhouettes of two figures fighting on the bed.

“Hey who the fuck -” his sentence was cut off as I pushed him.

I was still unsteady and because of it we both crashed to the floor. Eponine was still screaming but it sounded indistinct now. All my focus going towards dodging blows. A sharp pain burst in my stomach and I kicked Claquesous off of me. I managed to roll away before he could recover. Years of bar fights had prepared me for this and I swung with perfect aim, hitting him clean in the face.

The room fell silent and I let out a breath of relief.

“Holy fuck!” Eponine shouted coming to meet me on the floor.

“You’re welcome,” I rasped out. The adrenaline was leaving quickly. Being ushered out by haziness and confusion.

“Shit R, you’re bleeding!” she said, staring at my side.

“I am?” I followed her eyes to see a puddle of red forming in my shirt.

A large pocket knife sat near Claquesous' motionless hand dripping with blood.

Eponine was hysterical now. “No, no R. You don’t understand,” she croaked, “I can’t...we can’t...we can’t call the police here.”

I shook her weakly. “Ep we have to get out of here, okay? He could get up at any moment.”

She nodded, eyes unfocused. I could tell by the awkward way she helped me up that the world was still turning in circles for her. It was doing the same for me only now there was static at the edges.

Very slowly we made it down the stairs. I couldn’t tell who was breathing heavier, me or Eponine. The party was winding down, I thought. At least the noise had decreased. Maybe I just couldn’t hear it. I turned my head to ask Eponine to see that she had already been speaking.

“I...I took a pill. I can’t...oh my god...I can’t drive you..,” she was saying. I was distracted by how messy her mascara had gotten and I realized that she was crying. That’s when it really hit me. If I couldn’t get to the hospital, I was going to die.

Eponine's legs gave out, and we tumbled over each other into the grass. For the first time, I noticed we had made it outside. I turned over to look at the night sky.

Eponine’s face entered my field of vision. Every part of her was trembling from her lips to her hands. I was going to die. My gaze drew away from Eponine and back into the darkness. It was odd but I could only think one thing over and over again. That I wished I was dying during the day. I wished I was looking at the sun.

“Thank God you called. It’s Eponine. Look - Listen to me! I don’t have time to explain!”

Some clarity I didn’t know I still had returned to me and I recognized my phone in Eponine’s hand.

“You have to help him,” she whimpered to the person on the other end.

“Who…” I started but the hollow quality of it surprised me.

Eponine hung up and let the phone slip to the ground.

“You okay?” I grunted, trying out my voice again.

“Asks the man who just got stabbed,” she sighed. “Honestly, I’m crazy nauseous. But on the off chance you die, I don’t want you to do it next to my vomit.”

That made me laugh and I groaned at the shooting pain. Eponine held my hands tightly as the buzzing in the back of my mind began to overtake me. The sound of her sobbing reminded me of waves crashing against the shore.

_ “What good is the beach anyway?” _

_ I almost laughed. It made no sense. He looked so at place there. Yellow tones in his hands blending in with the golden sands. Blue eyes plucked straight from the sky. I’d draw him here later. He’d like that. _

_ “It’s nice,” I answered. _

_ He looked out towards the choppy water, “We should swim.” _

_ “We’re not supposed to,” I said. _

_ He gave me a look that could be simply interpreted as “Who cares?” _

_ “I can’t swim,” I confessed, shuffling my feet further into the sand. _

_ “Really?” he gasped. His face took on a searching quality like he was reevaluating me. It made me nervous. _

_ “I’ll teach you,” he said. _

_ I smiled. “Okay.” _

_ He didn’t complain anymore. Just enjoyed one of the brief moments of stillness we had as young boys. And my eyes couldn’t decide whether to watch him or the horizon. _

A rough sensation shook me. The steel blue skies broke away to reveal a starry night behind them. Eponine was still crying only now she was repeating “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry." between sobs.

“Grantaire! Grantaire you’re going to be okay. You have to be okay.”

I knew that voice. I’d know it intoxicated, high, or even dead.

“Enjolras what are you -”

He shushed me, brushing his fingers across my face. My eyes finally focused enough to see him. His curls fanned out messily and it looked like the stars were tucked into them. His eyes were red. I wondered if he’d been up all night.

He was on the phone with someone. “I’m pressing down Joly! It’s...it's seeping through my fingers. There's so much of it!"

There was something happening near us between Eponine and another figure. Enjolras cried out for help and they both ran over. Combeferre? I had no time to attempt to ask anything before I was being picked up and carried into the back of a car. I bit down hard on my tongue. The movement was making everything hurt again. I tried to focus on Enjolras’ fingers running through my hair and the soft words he was mumbling.

I felt faint and the anesthetic effect of it was welcoming. Enjolras was telling me to listen to him but it was easier to just watch the way his mouth made the words.

“Don’t slip away,” he said, and I tried not to, for him.

“You can’t leave again,” he whispered.

“I should have stayed gone,” I breathed out.

“That’s not true,” he said, choking on his tears.

I wanted to tell him not to cry. That the time for tears was over. I wanted to mention that I’d wasted so much time being scared. That we could’ve spent so much more of our lives together. My tongue felt heavy though, and I worried that I only had enough strength to say one more thing.

“I love you Enjolras.”

And I was so happy I had finally said it, that I let myself close my eyes.


	6. Acceptance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Die while alive and be thoroughly dead. Then do what you will, and all will be well.” 
> 
> – Philip Kapleau

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long, but atleast this is the last time y'all have to hear me say that. We did it! Last chapter! Let me take a second to gush about how grateful I am to everyone who gave kudos and commented. Especially the ones that gave me song recommendations. Writing this story saved my year, and your continued support made it possible. Now I'll shut up so you can read. Enjoy!

They say before you die, your life flashes before your eyes.

If that’s true then my life can only be defined by its colors. The reds and golds and blues that made up my world. Flickering across my eyelids in loosely defined shapes and faces. Until it all bled away and left behind darkness.

A darkness that lasted for so long I thought I was dead. That maybe this was all death was. Darkness. That I’d spent all my life vaguely worried about my afterlife for literally nothing. Then something broke through the static.

“So, we’ll go no more a roving/ So late into the night,”

I knew those words. It was the first real thing for me to focus on, and my wavy thoughts desperately grabbed onto it. Someone was reading a poem and not a very happy one.

“Though the heart be still as loving/ And the moon be still as bright,”

I only knew one person who even read Byron, or who would find this an appropriate situation to do a dramatic reading. Jehan, I thought fondly. The realization of their presence shook me from my stupor. My awareness didn’t fade in but came back all at once. I was laying down on something uncomfortable. In a room that smelt sterile.

“For the sword outwears its sheath/ And the soul wears out the breast.”

I noticed my eyes were closed. I felt silly. As if I’d forced myself to stay trapped in a bad dream when all I had to do was open them. So, I did. My eyes scanned the room adjusting to the light quickly. There were no harsh fluorescents to blink against, only soft daylight that poured from the windows. It made the blank white walls glitter like they were laughing at the tables of fresh flowers pressed against them. Confusing charts hung from the door and large metal machines glowered above me.

“And the heart must pause to breathe,”

The sound of Jehan’s voice cut through the faint beeps and faraway footsteps. They hadn’t noticed I was awake yet. Instead, they sat very still, eyes downcast on the book balancing in their lap. They were wearing an oversized tacky sweater, hair braided back, glasses crooked. It was like looking into an old photograph. The effect was only intensified by the ‘get well soon’ teddy bears on either side of them. At the same time, their ruddy damp cheeks and dark circles made them look ancient. It created a surreal juxtaposition that I wished I could have painted.

They had stopped speaking. Their mouth was slightly agape to read the next stanza, but their voice seemed caught in their throat. Eyes a bit frantic like they’d forgotten how to read halfway through the poem.

“And love itself have rest,” I rasped out, finishing the line for them.

Jehan’s head snapped up. The gape of their mouth widened until it was cartoonish. They looked at me in borderline horror as if they’d been attending a funeral and the corpse sat up.

“That was very macabre of you,” I laughed, it sounded like I was mixing gravel in my lungs. “It’s not like I’m dead.”

I watched the light sink back into their face until it was as lovely as I’d always known it. They stood up, book tumbling to the floor forgotten, and rushed towards my bedside. The fast movement made me jump and for the first time, I noticed the roaring pain in my stomach.

“Grantaire! Grantaire, you’re awake!”

They were clasping both sides of my face with their hands and looking me over in disbelief. It would have been disorientating if I wasn’t already confused by the rough feeling on my stomach. I tore Jehan’s hands off of me and lifted my hospital gown. Bandages?

“Are you okay?”

The last of my haze was wearing off and I was starting to see my surroundings for what they were. The four imposing walls of a hospital room. I tried to sit up and fell back.

“R, calm down,” Jehan insisted, trying to place their hands on my shoulders.

I swatted them away again. “What - What’s going on?”

They opened their mouth a few times wordlessly, unsure of what it was that I wanted to hear. “You’re in the hospital,” they said eventually.

I couldn’t help but roll my eyes. “Yes, I can see that but why? Why am I in the hospital?”

Jehan had stopped trying to touch me but was staring more intently now. “Do you know what year it is?” they asked.

“If I had to go off your sweater, I’d say it’s 1983,” I bit out impatiently.

“Well atleast you haven’t forgotten how to be a dick,” they huffed.

They sat on the edge of my bed and after a pause said, “What’s the last thing you remember?”

“I was at a party with Eponine,” I responded slowly.

“Do you remember anything that happened while you were there?”

I let my eyes follow a small crack in the ceiling as I searched my brain. I was upset so I had called her. She had driven us to Claquesous’ house. We were supposed to meet Montparnasse except he wasn’t there. It started to come back to me now. The stench of cheap liquor. Flashing lights. Screaming. Blood on blades of grass.

“Oh,” I whispered.

“Don’t worry, the guy who stabbed you is back in prison,” Jehan reassured me. “Turns out committing assault when you just got out for it is frowned upon.” 

I nodded. Something was missing though. Some lost part of the night was poking the edges of my memory insistent that I didn’t forget it.

“Was Enjolras there?” I asked tentatively, not entirely sure yet why I was asking.

“Yeah, he and Combeferre were the ones who came and got you."

My mind was reeling now. Each part of the night rebuilding itself like a stage background. The different characters all taking their places. The glow of stars. The sounds of running. Enjolras holding me. He was crying. And I told him...I told him -

I swallowed hard.

Jehan fidgeted and it wrinkled the pristine bedsheets. “Are you sure I don’t need to get a nurse?”

“No, no I’m fine."

“Fine enough for a hug?”

It was the sort of endearing gesture I had missed so much. My previous annoyance and shock melted away. “Bring it in.”

I didn’t hug Jehan back as much as I just let them hug me. They seemed satisfied enough though and smiled widely.

“You wouldn’t believe how worried I was,” they said. “The doctors said it was a 50/50 chance and you know Joly. He’s the human embodiment of Web MD. According to him, you were as good as gone.”

I giggled and then grimaced. “Ow, don’t make me laugh.”

Jehan looked at my stomach sympathetically as I caught my breath.

“Where is everyone?” I asked, but what I meant was “Where is Enjolras?”

“Most of them finally went home,” they shrugged, reaching down to pick up their book. They found the page with the Byron poem and marked it with a thin frayed ribbon.

“As for Enjolras,” they said with a knowing smile, “Combeferre made him go eat something. He’s gonna be pissed when he sees you woke up without him here.”

He chuckled absentmindedly and started for the door. “They’re just downstairs. I’ll get them for you.”

It’s not that I didn’t want to see Enjolras. I had wanted to see him since the very moment I could see anything at all. It’s that I didn’t know what I’d do once I did. The sudden silence in my own room only magnified how loud the rest of the hospital was. Somewhere in all that noise, Enjolras was probably sulking over a complimentary ice cream. I kept imagining him running through the door. All the things he might say.

It occurred to me that I could lie. Before he could get out a single word, I could say that I didn’t remember anything after Claquesous attacked me. I knew him well enough to know that he’d never bring it up then. We could forget this all happened. Go back to being friends or go back to being strangers. It would be that easy.

My thoughts were scattered by a knock at the door. I had been trying to formulate some concrete plan but now my mind blanked. I looked around for a sign of what I should do when the knob began turning.

Instead of Enjolras’ slender, pale fingers. A dark hand gripped the door, feminine but rough. The sight of which made my head throb with a phantom hangover.

Eponine peeked in the room. Her face was more nervous than I’d ever seen it. Her body was still halfway in the hall.

“You can come in you know,” I said.

She closed the door behind her.

“I um...I brought you some water,” she muttered, eyes focused on a small plastic cup. It was a rather pathetic peace offering but considering how parched I was it might as well have been the holy grail.

She set it down on my bedside table and then stepped back towards the door.

“Stab wounds aren’t contagious Eponine, sit.”

She slid across the room and sat cautiously down on the closest armchair like it was made of spikes. Her behavior could have been interpreted as cold, but I could see the thin facade she was barely holding up. Her hair was as frizzy and tangled as it had been during the incident. She hadn’t fixed it. She was wearing the same exact clothes too, ripped jeans and a bralette she must’ve been freezing in. It reminded me of crawling out of clubs at five in the morning. Sitting unshowered and still drunk in my living room. Sipping on metallic tasting coffee. I felt that at any moment she might lift her head and start laughing about the wild night we had. Only none of it was funny anymore.

“I’m sorry,” she blurted out. “I know that’s the last thing you must want to hear and that I’m the last person you want to hear it from...but it’s true.”

“You have nothing to apologize for,” I insisted.

She let out a sound so stilted and miserable I couldn’t even call it a laugh.

“I should have never been at that party.  _ You  _ should have never been at that party. You were doing so well. You were sober and I -”

“I made my decisions,” I interrupted harshly.

“And I helped you make the worst ones possible.”

Her voice was strained and she pretended to look at the flowers, hoping I wouldn’t catch her wiping her eyes.

“He’s right about me,” she whispered.

I didn’t need a name to know who she was talking about.

“Enjolras can be intense. He’s probably mad at himself. I’m sure he didn’t mean to take it out on you."

She shook her head solemnly. “I’m useless, R. I’m selfish. Irresponsible. My life is miserable and I’m dragging you down with me because I’m jealous.”

Jesus Christ, did Enjolras really say all that? I wondered if it would be worth the fight to wrangle an apology out of him.

I bit my lip and weighed my next words carefully.

“Atleast don’t say it like that.”

“Like what?” she murmured.

I grabbed her hand and held it in my exhausted grip. “Like that’s all you’ll ever be.”

For the first time since she walked in the door, she smiled. “I am happy for you,” she said, “Your friends care for you and they do a much better job at it than I ever did.”

“They could be your friends too."

“Not unless you want a huge scene at your next meeting,” she scoffed.

I grinned at the wave of memories. “Trust me, it wouldn’t be the first.”

"There was something else I came in here to tell you."

I gestured for her to go on.

She squeezed her hands together tightly and looked down at them. "I broke up with Parnasse."

My eyebrows shot up.

"What made you finally do it?" I asked.

She leaned forward, tilting her head to the side. She had an all-knowing expression I wasn't used to.

"He said he loved me but he didn't want what was best for me. That blond toy soldier of yours made me realize that isn't love at all."

There was an implication in what she said that shocked me.

"Eponine -"

She held up her hand. "No more excuses R. Stop fighting it. You're not just hurting yourself, you're hurting him too."

Eponine loved her dramatic exits, so while I was still sitting dazed by her words, she got up to go.

"Everyone else is on their way up here, so I should leave. I know you'll make the right choice."

I settled back into the pillows after she had gone. The emotional drama of it all was draining. So much so that I’d forgotten to panic. I was lying there, thoughts adrift and eyes closed. I must have been half asleep before I noticed that someone else was in the room with me.

“I didn’t mean to wake you,” Enjolras whispered.

"I’m glad you did,” I whispered back.

I didn’t know why we were whispering except that some sort of trance seemed to be over the both of us and we couldn’t bear to break it.

“I had wanted to be here when you first came to,” he said, voice still impossibly low.

“Jehan told me”

I could see the wheels in his head turning. He was debating whether to bring it up. Blood began to rush through my body. My window was closing. If I let him speak first, I would lose my chance to derail this conversation forever.

“Enjolras -” I started just as his own mouth opened to say “Grantaire-”

“Let me go first,” he implored.

I held my breath.

“I shouldn’t have said what I did before you left my apartment. It killed me to realize that could have been the last conversation we ever had. You don’t make everything harder. In fact, you’ve made everything about my life better.”

It seemed like he could have gone on for hours. Like there were a million sweet things that had been collecting in his brain and I had to hear them all, but he stopped himself.

“What were you going to say?” he asked.

My lips parted, lie on the tip of my tongue when I looked at him. Really looked at him. At the ridiculous scrunchie he was using to keep up his hair that he must have borrowed from Cosette. At his nails which hadn’t been bitten down in years but now were ripped apart. At the same dumb red sweater he wore almost everyday. At how beautiful he looked even when he was tired. I looked at him and I knew at once what it meant to want something.

“I love you.”

My hands instinctively shot over my mouth, but I couldn’t take it back now. Not when I meant it as much as I did.

Enjolras’ face was pale. “What?”

I pulled my hands away from my mouth and took a deep breath. “Before I passed out, I told you I loved you...and...and I wanted you to know that I still do. I always have.”

The words kept pouring out, and I wondered if maybe I did have a brain injury. But I felt lighter and lighter with everything I admitted to him. He was still quiet when I had finished. If a knife to the stomach didn’t kill me, one more second of silence would.

“Please say something,” I begged, feeling myself grow smaller.

At first, he said nothing. He only smiled. The color poured back into him until he was golden and bright and real.

“I love you too.”

It was the most wonderful thing I had ever heard him say. I hadn’t been prepared for what he did next. Faster than light travels from one place to the other, he bent down and kissed me.

There was no hesitation when I kissed him back. Only the movement of my chapped lips against his soft ones. It was desperate and hungry from the beginning. Containing all the ‘I’m sorrys’ and ‘I should haves’ we’d ever need to say again.

Enjolras deepened the kiss still and I moaned into it. He was almost on top of me, and unfortunately not every part of my body was happy about that.

“Ow,” I yelped.

“Oops,” he winced, “guess we’ll have to save some stuff for later.”

Scratch my previous statement.  _ That _ was the most wonderful thing I had ever heard him say.

He moved away but stayed close enough that I could still feel the warmth coming off of him. He was staring at me and it was making me burn up inside.

“Can you stop that?”

“Stop what?”

“Stop looking at me like I’m going to disappear,” I said.

“You almost died.” His tone was serious and somber.

I held his hands, thumb sliding across his palms. “Well, I’m glad I didn’t.”

“Me too.”

We kissed gently after that. Savoring the knowledge that we were both here and together.

* * *

The next few days would pass in a confusion of terror and delight. Enjolras by my side as nurses and friends created frenzies around me. While his company was something I often sought out unconsciously. It was a completely different ecstasy to know that his touch didn’t need to be sought anymore. He was always giving it to me. Hands finding mine when we talked to each other. Brushing my hair behind my ears as we listened to the doctor's daily report on my condition. Most of the time his touches were random and pointless. Fingertips running across my face and down my arms for the sake of touch itself. 

Though there’d been no romance between us when we were kids, I was reminded of those days in these intimate interactions. They were unself-conscious and indulging. We did what we liked simply because we liked it. The difference of course was that now that usually meant fooling around as best as one could on a hospital bed. It was more than easy, it was natural. And it made me realize what a colossal effort it had been to deny this.

It was a cool summer morning. The window was cracked and it blew the flowers around their handmade vases. Venti coffee cups and cheap glasses filled with water from the bathroom sink.

“Well R, you’ve definitely made this activist group more interesting,” snickered Courfeyrac. He was sitting on the edge of a table, resting his elbows on the teddy bear he’d sat in his lap. “Here I was, thinking Combeferre was calling to ask if I’d gotten permission forms from the city again.”

Marius nodded excitedly in agreement. “I thought Courf was pranking me when he pulled up and said we had to go to the hospital cause you’d been stabbed. You know how he is.”

Marius was sitting on the arm of the chair by my bed, leaning into Cosette. She sat there, hands folded on a lily-printed dress, nodding along to their story.

“Next thing I know,” Marius continued. “We were actually at the emergency room. Then I saw Eponine in the lobby crying.”

I always forgot that Eponine and Marius knew each other. They’d been in the same runaway shelter for a short time when they were teens. Until his grandfather had found him and coaxed him back home. From the way she told it, she’d been a bit in love with him back then. She nearly lost her jaw when I mentioned his name to her one day. I knew it was half the reason she refused to hang out with the Amis. The other half was because she had thought they were “righteous dickheads.” Though I had a feeling that she'd finally take me up on my offer.

“So he goes up to her,” Courfeyrac said, stealing the story back from Marius. They’d been going on like this for awhile now and didn’t seem to be stopping anytime soon. It was surprisingly refreshing to listen to.

After awhile, Courfeyrac had to head off to work, so they all bid their goodbyes and started heading for the door.

"Cosette," I called out.

She turned around.

I pulled out the pin she'd given me at my one month party. It had been in my pocket that night and I found it when they gave me back my belongings.

She gave a nod to Marius who'd been hovering by the door for her and walked closer to me.

"I um...I thought you should have this back," I said, holding it out to her, "since it's not accurate anymore."

She grabbed the heart-shaped pin from me. Then she grabbed my hand, placed it in my palm, and closed my fingers around it.

She laughed and I couldn't tell it apart from the birds singing outside. "You don't need pins to see how much progress you've made R. But keep this anyway, because I know it'll be true again."

After Cosette had left, I waited for Enjolras to come by after his classes with a fresh pair of clothes. I was going home that day. They’d been monitoring me for any possible infection, but my recovery had been steady. The doctors were confident that I could finish healing from the comfort of my own apartment.

I was perfectly capable of getting myself dressed and meeting him downstairs. Enjolras, however, stayed in the room fussing over me as I got ready. I winced once and he was already on his feet.

“R, you’re going to pull your bandages,” he said, coming closer.

“Pervert,” I joked, nevertheless letting him grab the edges of my hospital gown.

“I’ve technically already seen you naked,” he pointed out.

I scoffed. “When I was like seven years old.”

“If you think I still look like that underneath this gown,” I smirked, “then I’ve got a huge surprise for you.”

Joly was on duty that afternoon and he listed off all the precautions he thought I should take. Including all the specific exertions I should avoid. He rattled on unabashedly with all the professionalism of the nurse I sometimes forgot he actually was. We had already broken one of his rules in the privacy of my little hospital room. We’d break another two before the week was up. But what Joly didn’t know, wouldn’t hurt him.

I sat inside Enjolras’ Prius. He was catching me up on everything happening with Les Amis de l’ABC. I wasn’t listening but I still stared at him, watching the different emotions run their course on his face. He gestured wildly, talking over the music he never turned down, one hand on the steering wheel. He made a sharp turn, only remembering to signal at the very last second. It stuck out to me the way all of Enjolras’ actions did now. As if I was trying to commit each quirk to memory. So that if death ever came to me again, this time I’d have all the details.

Normally so serious and orderly, it was a seemingly uncharacteristic trait that revealed his inherent recklessness. Something most people didn’t notice about him until it was too late. The sort of thing that made him risk everything just to love someone like me.

“You’re not listening,” he huffed.

“You’re a bad driver,” I said. “I don’t think I’ve ever told you that before.”

“Not you too,” he said in exaggerated offense. “Combeferre refuses to ride in the car with me if I’m driving.”

“Well I can’t drive, so you’re doing better than me,” I admitted.

Enjolras rested back in his seat after an abrupt stop at a red light.

“Really?”

“Never learned,” I shrugged.

His eyes swept over me. That thoughtful gaze I’d become so familiar with. Then in a voice fond as summer he said, “I’ll teach you.”

* * *

The car was heavy with the scent of coffee. Enjolras gave me the footnote version of the meeting while I drove. I had missed it to cover a shift for Musichetta. It was the least I could do after she’d got me hired there as a barista.

My employment at Waterloo ended when Thenadier tried to give me crap about my "abrupt" sick leave. Apparently, he thought violent stabbings were the sort of thing you needed to give prior notice about. I had been wrestling with the decision to quit the bar for some time, so I could only thank him for the push.

“You’re getting better at this,” Enjolras said as I put his car in park.

“Well, I had a pretty great teacher."

“Oh really?” Enjolras smirked. “Tell me more about this instructor of yours.”

“What’s not to tell,” I purred, unclicking my seatbelt and moving closer. “He’s talented, passionate, and did I mention hot. Thought I was gonna crash the car.”

By now I had my hand suggestively running up and down the gear stick.

Enjolras leaned forward but stopped a breath away from my lips. “I love you,” he whispered, “but for the last time we are not having sex in my car.”

I thought for a moment. “What if it’s someone else’s car?”

He laughed and playfully pushed me away.

“Tomorrow though,” he started, taking my face into his hands. “I’m going to let you drive me all the way home.”

“Hell yeah I am,” I growled, beginning to kiss him.

He hummed into the kiss and broke away only slightly to say, “After you pick up Jehan of course.”

I pulled back so fast I hit the window. “I’m sorry, what?”

Enjolras just sat there confused. “I mean they're the whole reason we’re even going R.”

“What are you talking about?” I asked, voice exasperated.

“Our trip,” he answered plainly. “Didn’t Jehan tell you? Their mom finally sold the house so we have to drive them down there to get their stuff.”

He looked at me suspiciously, “Wait, what are  _ you _ talking about?”

I cleared my throat, “...also that.”

He wasn't fooled for a second. "You idiot," he chuckled.

He brought his arms around my neck. "We don't have to wait 'till tomorrow to do that."

Jehan hadn’t told me about the trip. It turned out that they were going to when they stopped by the cafe earlier. They had gotten distracted when Bossuet managed to make the specials sign fall down just by staring at it. In their defense, it was pretty spooky.

The next morning the three of us piled into Enjolras’ car. Jehan hated driving and while Enjolras could’ve gotten us there an hour earlier, it wasn’t guaranteed all our bones would still be in place. So, I was stuck behind the wheel.

Enjolras took up the backseat with textbooks and handouts, trying to finish one of his papers last minute. I adjusted the front mirror and caught his eyes in it. He gave me that goofy smile I’d sketched a hundred times and would never grow tired of doing so.

Unlike Enj who always played the radio, Jehan was the sort who had a playlist for everything.

“Nothing I had was quite right, so I made a new one last night,” they said, hooking their phone up to the car.

It was a jumble of songs from the early 2000s. The majority of which I hadn’t heard since middle school. Everything from Fergie to Fall Out Boy. Like a nostalgic seizure, it played at a nearly unbearable volume as familiar landmarks flashed past me.

Enjolras was doing the herculean task of concentrating while Jehan sang Fireflies. Right around the time I threatened to drive into the concrete barrier if Jehan played American Boy one more time, he slammed his laptop shut and yelled, “Done!”

After Enjolras finished, I spent the rest of the ride listening to them exchange anecdotes about the past. They had stayed best friends all throughout school. Except for a brief feud during 7th grade when Enjolras made the soccer team and Jehan didn’t. Enjolras was unwillingly popular in highschool due to his good looks, and his position as both captain of the soccer team and student council president. Jehan was exactly the weird theater kid I always suspected they'd be. They talked in excited tones about the time they came out to eachother in 10th grade. And the subsequent decision to experiment with eachother that left them both mildly scarred. My favorite one was the time Enjolras rejected his nomination for prom king to make a point about hierarchies.

“He stood on top of one of the cafeteria tables and gave a speech.”

Jehan was laughing so much they were snorting. “No one had any idea what he was talking about. Of course, his little fan club clapped anyway so then everyone else did.”

“They weren’t a fan club,” Enjolras muttered indignantly.

“That’s not even the best part,” Jehan continued, bouncing in their seat.

“Jehan, I love this man. Please don’t tell him this story,” Enjolras pleaded.

Jehan ignored him easily. “See Enj had just come out that year and everyone was trying to be supportive about it. So -”

Jehan broke into a series of uncontrollable giggles. Enjolras, on the other hand, had hidden his face in his constitutional law textbook.

“So?” I repeated.

They held their stomach, chest heaving. “So they thought his problem with the whole affair was that he just didn't want to be  _ king _ . So prom night finally comes. Enjolras is brooding as they call the names of the winners. Next thing he knows, he's being pulled on stage because he's been crowned prom queen of Saint-Denis highschool.”

I laughed so hard the car swerved.

“Their hearts were in the right place,” Enjolras sighed.

The trip was filled with story after story about the relatively happy youth of my dearest friends. I thought it would hurt to hear but it didn’t.

Jehan caught their breath after a particularly funny story about their freshman Sadie Hawkins dance. “That night was wild. I wish you would’ve been there.”

They really sounded like they meant it, and since the past was unchangeable, that would have to be enough.

* * *

We arrived in town by lunchtime. I drove slowly through old neighborhoods, taking note of all that had changed and all that hadn’t. So that by the time we reached Jehan’s house, we were starving.

Mrs. Prouvaire came out onto the porch as we pulled up. She looked so much like I remembered her. Her age showing gracefully on her face in laughter lines. The beginnings of crows feet appearing around eyes that looked so much like Jehan’s.

“Mom!” Jehan exclaimed, jumping out of the car and running up to hug her. “It’s been so long.”

“You kids never visit,” she chided in her soft accented English.

She pointed a thin and spotted, yet beautifully manicured, finger at Enjolras. “Especially you.”

Enjolras flushed with guilt. “We’ve been busy.”

She laughed, a hearty sound, and moved to hug him too. “I know,” she said, pulling back and looking at him proudly, “You’ve been out changing the world.”

Enjolras beamed. In that moment I could see the young teen desperate to make an impact I had never gotten the chance to know.

She slapped his shoulders. “You look healthy as an ox. You on the other hand,” she said, turning back towards Jehan. “You’ve lost weight.”

Jehan pinched the bridge of their nose, “Mom, you always say that. It can’t be true every time.”

I had been taking my time getting out of the car. I felt like a stranger intruding on something personal. Though I’d been to Jehan’s house more times than I could count, it seemed wrong to come back after all these years and act like I belong.

Mrs. Prouvaire finally noticed my presence and began to make her way towards me.

“Oh mom, you remember -”

“R!” she said as she pulled me into a hug. “Of course I remember you.”

She reached up to ruffle my curls. “I see you’re still doing nothing with that hair of yours.”

I could only smile in surprise.

Jehan’s childhood home was exactly like I remembered it too. A single story bungalow with low ceilings and dated wallpaper. Cream-colored couches and red-tasseled pillows. Pictures of his late father in simple black frames sat waiting to be packed on the dining room table. Along with wedding photos from Vietnam. All with that hazy familiarity old photos tend to have. Next to it was a picture of a younger-looking Mrs. Prouvaire and a small, chubby Jehan after arriving in America.

In her excitement, Mrs. Prouvaire had practically cooked us a three course meal. We made quick work of it and went down the hall to help Jehan go through their things.

Jehan’s room was a miasma of all the various phases they’d ever gone through. They had the odd habit that instead of redecorating, they’d keep layering new parts of their identity. Old records sat neatly organized underneath posters of Britney Spears. A guitar laid forgotten by a polaroid photo wall. My Chemical Romance stickers stubbornly stuck onto a mirror that had been repurposed with makeup lights.

Jehan sat staring indecisively at the pile of junk they’d surrounded themselves with. Enjolras tried to be helpful, but mostly complained about how much of his stuff Jehan had apparently stolen over the years. I distracted myself by looking at the photos.

“Holy shit R, I totally forgot about this!” Jehan yelled, grabbing my attention.

They held up a painting I had done of them sitting under a maple tree for art class. They had liked it so much they’d asked to keep it.

“This is amazing considering how young you were. You should start doing art again.” they said, sliding the painting into their “take” pile.

I shrugged in response. I hadn’t done anything ambitious in a long time. Mostly because I lacked the inspiration. I looked to where Enjolras was leafing through the bookcase and decided that wasn’t true anymore.

After the bedroom, we moved on to the garage. Sweeping over it for any possible remnant of our childhoods.

“I can’t believe it!” Enjolras cried, pulling Jehan’s bike from behind a pile of boxes.

“Me neither,” Jehan echoed, leaning down to run their hands through the streamers. “Now what in the world am I going to do with this thing?”

“I bet I can still ride it,” Enjolras said, unhelpfully.

“Bet you can’t.” I shot back. It was a children’s bike and Enjolras had grown into a rather tall man. I would've paid to watch him try to ride it.

Jehan glared at us both before rolling their eyes and opening the garage door. “Fine, at least if you break it I don’t have to think about who to give it to.”

Being back there had a certain effect on us. I’d felt it the moment we crossed the county line. I talked too much. Enjolras talked too loud. Jehan laughed at everything. We’d reverted back to some freer state of mind. I didn’t really know how to describe it, but I know that I saw it in the way Enjolras ran full speed out of the garage. The bike rolling beside him. Without stopping for breath he jumped onto it.

He looked ridiculous. Hunched over and feet peddling clumsily. I was afraid he’d knee himself in the face. Despite all that, he was technically riding it. Racing up and down the street as Jehan and I watched in amazement. He came to a skidding stop right in front of us.

“Hey babe,” he said in a fake sultry tone, “Wanna ride?”

I hated myself for actually blushing.

“If I get on the back of that thing we’re both going to die.”

He held out his hand, “At least we’ll die together.”

“That’s the worst argument you’ve ever made for anything,” I said, but I was already stepping onto the bike pegs.

“It worked, didn’t it?”

He pedaled off and I held on tightly to his shoulders already feeling the bike lose balance. Enjolras’ confidence was reassuring but his inability to ride in a straight line wasn’t. It was a downhill journey and the bike began to speed up despite our weight.

“Faster!” I yelled into the wind.

“You’re shorter than me. You should be pedaling!” Enjolras yelled back.

Before I could object, we hit a stray rock in the road. For the already unsteady bike, this was game over. We wiped out, tumbling over each other and onto the concrete.

Once the world was right side up again, I sat up to assess the damage. What I saw in front of me was so terrifying I almost wished the fall killed me.

“Jehan will be happy,” Enjolras was saying somewhere near me as he picked up the dislocated bike seat.

I didn’t respond.

I heard him walk to where I was still sitting on the sidewalk. “Wasn’t that your -”

“Yeah,” I interrupted, “it was.”

I had made the fatal mistake of forgetting how close I'd lived to Jehan. The last memories I had of my house were its dirty and barren interior. Now it stood before me, lights shining in the fast-approaching evening. I could see a fully set dining room table through one of the windows, flowers in another. Two metal scooters lay abandoned where a collared cat slept on a porch swing.

Enjolras sat down next to me. “Do you still talk to your mother?” he asked quietly.

I shook my head, the words still not coming to me.

“Why not?”

I watched the silhouetted figure of a woman pass by one of the lit windows.

“She’s dead.”

Fingers weaved through mine.

“It was a heart attack. Don’t look so surprised. She might’ve been young but she wasn’t exactly a role model for healthy living. Excessive dieting, drinking, amphetamine abuse. I guess the years we spend destroying ourselves really does catch up to us.”

I took a steadying breath.

“I hadn’t talked to her for years when it happened. She was already dead to me, but…”

Enjolras wrapped his arms around me and I buried my face in his neck. My chest was heaving but the tears didn’t come. There weren’t any left to cry for her.

“There’s one more place we should visit while we’re here,” Enjolras whispered.

We walked side by side. Enjolras rolled the bike alongside him as he hummed. I tapped the broken seat against my leg to the beat of our footsteps. Together, we followed the sidewalk until it became unruly grass and ferns.

My body knew the way even when my mind didn’t. Hands reaching out to find support on familiar tree trunks. Feet stepping over the same roots and stones like a memorized dance. We weaved through the dark until the moonlight was no longer obscured by trees, but poured in a silver river over flowers.

Enjolras was ghostly in it. Golden hair standing out against the blue and black hues of the night like a campfire.

“Can’t believe it’s been 13 years since we were here together,” he said.

I thought back to that August night, not so unlike this one. The moon, full and high in the sky. The air, warm. The wildflowers tangled around each other in their own midnight celebration. This time, however, we had come with nothing but each other.

To my amusement, Enjolras laid back in the grass. He looked up at me through long eyelashes, eyes gesturing towards the spot next to him. I laughed under my breath and laid down.

Seconds passed with nothing but the buzzing of unseen cicadas and the almost inaudible rustling of leaves in the summer breeze.

“I never thought I'd see this place again,” I said. My voice was soft for no other reason than that the grass was soft and the stars and the smile on Enjolras’ face.

He moved closer till’ not an inch of space was between us. “Isn’t it crazy?”

“What is?”

“How things go right when you let them.”

“Why did you bring me back here?” I asked, turning my head to look at him.

He turned towards me, our noses nearly touching. “Because I have a promise to keep,” he whispered, “and so do you.”

He brushed a few stray curls behind my ear, hand coming to rest on my cheek. “Just like the moon, I know for a fact that you’re brilliant and whole even when you only show me parts of yourself. And I think you’re beautiful, craters and all.”

My breath caught.

Little Enjolras’ words rang clearly in my head.

_ “How about this? When we’re older and we find eachother again, I’ll tell you.” _

My eyes grew wide. “You remembered.”

He nodded, hair brushing against the grass. “And if I remembered correctly, it’s your turn.”

I couldn’t help but laugh. “Isn’t it obvious?”

He blinked back at me, confusion in those crystalline eyes.

“If I’m the moon Enjolras, then I only shine because you choose to love me everyday.”

“Oh R,” he breathed. “It was only ever you.”

I was no longer scared of the feeling that flooded my heart. It wasn’t so overwhelming when shared between the two of us. And since right here and right now he was in my arms, I kissed him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fin.


End file.
